Favor me with Silence
by Madea's Rage
Summary: Silence is an easy text to misread. A.A Attanasio . Hermione strikes a bargain with Draco, and then things get interesting...CP!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I was innocently walking along and a snooty blond plotbunny leapt out and bit my leg. Draco is never the Dom in these things-thought it would be interesting to set up a situation where he'd have the upper hand.**

**Please review: That's how authors improve. Also, if you'd like to give a suggestion for what might be Malfoy's 'Somthing you'll like even less', do let me know :)**

**Many thanks to my betas, Visitkarte and Angels Broken Shadow**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

A hand, cold and bony, clamped Hermione's arm. She yelped and started. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she woke fully to Draco Malfoy's leering face. He looked pleased, like a cat eyeing a plump, helpless baby mouse. He smiled slowly at her and simply rode the pause for a long moment.

"Well well, Granger in the library, who might have imagined?" He smirked, delighted to have caught Potter's pitiful little mudblood up to something. He stood a little taller, the Inquisitorial Squad badge gleaming dully in the faulty candlelight.

"What time is it?" Hermione still felt fuzzy. She'd been working overtime trying to find potions that might help Harry block the dream/visions from Voldemort, seeing as Occulumency was going so horribly. Between classes, the DA and her research she was constantly tired.

Madam Pince, who hated nearly everyone, proved the exception to the rule theory by taking a shine to Hermione in her second year. The pinch mouthed librarian allowed her to use the library overnight, provided she made no messes and promised not to go into the restricted area without permission. Even Filch, who had a terrible crush on Madam Pince, didn't really mind much.

Malfoy, on the other hand, wasn't quite so accommodating. He hated the mudblood with all his considerable will, but mixed into the hate was a weird admiration he couldn't shake off. She was smart, and one of the few people to stand up to him on a consistent basis. Not to mention, she'd punched him third year, which was galling, but still pretty bold.

He put his arm around her bicep and began to pull her up. " It's quarter past three, but I'd imagine Professor Umbridge is still awake. And won't she be interested in what you've been doing?"

Hermione tried to jerk her arm out of his grip. " Let me go, Malfoy!" He held her tighter, almost hurting her. " I could. But this way is more fun, isn't it?" He leaned closer, close enough she could feel his breath on her cheek. She jerked back, lashed out with her foot and caught his shin but it wasn't enough. A bolt of light hit her and she fell, stupified.

When she came back he was standing above her, grinning. " Stupid, mud blood, stupid. I would have thought you'd be a little more subtle. Then again, considering the company you keep, I suppose I should have expected it."

She glared up. "Malfoy, take me to Umbridge or let me stand."

He shook his head slowly. " Actually, I thought I'd give you a third option."

"What option? If you think for two seconds I'm going to spy for you, you slimy, repulsive--"

He held up a hand. "Don't be an idiot. Gryffindors make terrible spies. I simply thought you'd prefer my punishment to whatever Umbrige might cook up."

"How is being cruciated by you different than being cruciated by that…woman?"

"Look, are you interested or not? If I take you to Umbridge, she'll have them throw you out, and probably your little boy friends too. Do you have any idea what would happen to you three if you get kicked out? The world can be a very dangerous place, Granger, especially without magic to protect you." He picked at some lint on his cuff with an air of total indifference to her choice.

" So, what's it going to be?"

" And it's nothing…bad?"

"I suppose that depends on who you are. If you mean 'nothing Dark' then no, nothing Dark. Just a little experiement. So yes or no?"

She nodded slowly. Draco undid the Incarcerous and slowly helped her stand. "Why are you helping me?"

He snorted. "I'm not. I just happen to fancy a diversion, that's all. First thing first, give me your Transfiguration notes"

" My notes?"

"I had a migraine yesterday and Crabbe's handwriting makes me ill. Second thing, we're going to swear a Wizard's Oath about this."

She felt a sense that this was a very bad idea. A Wizard's Oath with Malfoy…a tiny, tiny part of her was curious. She wondered what he wanted so badly. He raised his wand, chanted the incantation, and then said clearly " I, Draco Malfoy, swear not to harm Hermione Granger while she is under my control, and never to reveal to anyone in any way what happened between us."

She decided this was insanity. Perhaps she could obliviate him… He lifted the sleeve of his robe and showed where he had tucked her wand. " Put your hand over mine and I'll swish it for you, Granger. Swear to submit to my control and not to tell."

"You can't seriously believe I'm going to…"

He raised a well manicured hand. " Shame, wouldn't it be, a son thrown out a Hogwarts and a father out a job…How awful for the Weasleys. Do you suppose they could afford Durmstrang?"

"You miserable little--"

"Swear, Granger. Or else I'll get Umbridge and owl Father at once."

She swore through gritted teeth, seething. He repocketed her wand and turned to leave the library. She grabbed her rucksack and followed after him in silence, until they stood in front of the Room of Requirement. A single wooden chair sat in the middle of the room, a blazing fire in the grate.

Draco silencio'd the room and put on several wards and privacy charms, the pulled the school bag out of her hand and rummaged through it thoughtfully. Someone as anal as Granger would have…ah hah! He pulled it out and eyed it thoughtfully. "What is this?"

" A hair brush." Hermione was so baffled at this point that she stated the obvious. It was just a brush, bought at Boots for a couple quid. He shook his head, annoyed.

" Clearly. I mean, what is made out of?"

"Plastic." He wrinkled his nose at the strange feel and waved his wand. The brush glowed and a moment later the light green plastic had become heavy, dark wood. Hermione didn't like this. In fact, she liked it less as the seconds past.

He set the brush down on the floor and, removing his robe, sat down. In just his shirt and trousers, tie loosened, he looked different. He gestured her over. "Your robes."

She started. "I'm not taking off my clothes."

"No, you aren't but t isn't even as though I could tell anyone even if you stripped naked, is it? Do it before I tire of this and carry out my threat."

She hesitated a fraction of a second before she jerked it over her head, folded it and laid it on the floor next to his. He reached up, seized a good grip on her wrist, and suddenly yanked her down and over his lap.

"Malfoy! The hell, what do you think you're—ohh!" She began to kick, squirming and gasping. He didn't bother to respond, too busy pinning her to his lap and flipping her skirt up. He reached into the waistband of very sensible Marks and Spencer's panties and yanked them to her knees.

"You said---wouldn't hurt me--- pull them up, pull them up!" Hermione couldn't process what was going to happen. Surely—he wasn't—it didn't— Draco—but—no.

"Granger' Draco said in a long suffering voice ' I'm smacking you, not killing you. Honestly, you'd think you'd never been gotten it before."

She stopped squirming a moment. " I never have."

Draco huffed. " That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You've really never been smacked?"

"Never."

" A treat for both of us then, because I've never given one. All right, put your hands on your back., yes, like that." He trapped her wrists with his right hand and surveyed her. The sight of the mud blood brought low filled him with such joy he could hardly contain his laughter.

" You're going to lay over my lap and I'm going to smack you, hard, until you cry. Then I'll use the brush and if I'm convinced you've learned your lesson I'll let you up. Any questions?"

"Why?"

He chuckled. "Because I can, Granger. You were naïve enough to trust me to behave and this is what you get. You aren't worth the energy to curse properly. And because I fancy seeing the little mud blood genius howling over my knee like a child. Anything else?"

" Can't you---ahh—pull them back up?"

He chuckled again. " No, I intend to do a proper job of it. Besides which, you aren't in control here, I am, and I say they stay down. Now lie still like a good girl and I'll make sure you can sit in a week instead of a month."

He steadied her on his lap and then raised his hand, brought it down with a crack. She jumped and cried out, unable to believe it hurt as much as it did. It stung! He grinned above her and swatted again, fascinated by the way her pale backside flattened and then came back, bearing a red copy of his palm.

Hermione bit her lip, determined not to cry, not to let him know how much he was hurting her. Her backside was stinging sharply, her eyes watering. She'd never give him the satisfaction of hearing her sob, or beg, or anything else.

Draco swatted her backside until it glowed. She was twisting and sobbing silently, no doubt having decided that she wouldn't let him make her cry or some nonsense. Gryffindors were so easy, so simple. Any Slytherin in her place would have been screeching like banshees, himself included.

" I can go on like this all night, you know. You, on the other hand, might wish to consider whether your defiance is helping you or not."

Hermione said nothing. The sting in her backside had turned into a dreadful heat that each smack fed and fed. She understood now why her granddad had called it 'a good arse warming'. She felt as though she had the worst sunburn of her life, concentrated in one place.

Draco decided to up the ante. Lifting his thigh, he pulled her tighter to him and began to whack her sit spots, especially the tender crease between bottom and thigh. She gasped and swore, trying to squirm off his lap. He clicked his tongue reprovingly.

" Naughty, naughty. I suppose I'll have to give you a little extra for that last word, hmmm?"

She couldn't stand another second. Her bottom was so hot and it hurt so much!

" No, please!" He laughed. Draco felt as though his birthday had come early. Granger, begging him! If only he could have told his father about it.

"Perhaps if you ask me very nicely, I'll use my hand instead of the brush for the extras you've earned. How does that sound, mud blood?"

She had never felt so powerless, so small, in her whole life. She wanted to fight, curse him, run away. She couldn't move, couldn't do anything. Her feet were drumming, trying to kick despite her best efforts. She hated him so, the bastard.

" Well? Do you need a taste of the brush to help you decide?" He stopped long enough to get the brush from the table and press it into her rosy flesh. She squealed; the pressure hurt.

CRACK! "**OWWWWW!"** It hurt so much! She'd never sit again! Four years of Quidditch had given him some real strength and he ignored Granger's frantic twisting and kicking. He put the brush against the small of her back. " Anything you'd like to ask me?"

" Please, no—please, please--" She couldn't force it out. He waited a moment, decided this was wasting time, and gave her another good dose of the brush. She writhed.

" P-please, don't use the brush! Please!"

" Use it for what?"

" Extras. Please!"

"Say it, Granger."

"P-please don't use the b-brush for my extras, Malfoy."

"Very good, though I think it more appropriate that you call me 'sir' in this position, don't you?"

She gave a sob of mingled fury and disgust. "S-sir."

"Well done, Granger. On the other hand, we don't always get what we want, do we?"

He picked up the brush and brought it down hard. She howled, twisting desperately. "**OWWWWWWW**!"

"Still feeling haughty, Granger?" Draco had never enjoyed anything as much as he did this. Granger looked an absolute fright, backside a hot pink shading to almost purple, hair in tangles, damp with sweat. Her wails were music in his ears. He lifted his leg and she howled even louder.

"**NONONONPLEASENOTTHERE**!"

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

He stopped for a moment and let her take a deep, shuddering breath. Her back was heaving wildly. "P-please, don't hit me there. It hurts, it really hurts."

He rolled his eyes. " It's supposed to hurt, that's why it's a punishment."

"Please!"

"Just a few more, Granger. You've spent all this time with Weasley and you can't take a little pain? Pathetic."

He gave her a few more cracks with the brush before she went limp. He stopped; that's where Lucius had always stopped, and Snape, and anyway, she was no fun lying there bawling like a baby, not putting up a fight.

What to do now? He had no intention of giving her a hug, like he always got from Father, or even a few kind words like Snape was wont to give his godson. He settled for sitting still, letting her cry it out.

She was so embarrassed, she didn't even care that she was draped half naked across Malfoy's lap. She sobbed bitterly, tiredly, exhaustion and stress and pain all coming together in an agonizing knot and then pouring out. She bawled, hurting too much in every sense to feel anything else.

" Come on Granger, pull yourself together. I didn't flay you." He put his hands under her shoulders and helped her stand up. She wavered slightly and he tightened his hold slightly.

Standing up alerted Hermione to another problem, namely the fact her bum was on fire. It BURNED! She couldn't stay still. Her hands flew back to rub and she helplessly "Owww"'d , dancing a little in place.

Could this day get any better? Watching the little mud blood dance after her arse blistering was officially his new favorite memory. Remembering something from his childhood, he leaned over and trapped her hands.

" No you don't. No rubbing, unless you'd like to sit down in the corner rather than stand. Would you?"

She stopped moving. "Corner? You can't be serious!"

He swatted her sore behind hard. "Oww!"

"You actually expect me to pass up a chance to utterly humiliate you? You really _are_ naïve." She looked uncertainly at the nearest corner.

"Don't tell me you never had to stand in the corner either."

Draco shook his head in disgust. No wonder she was such an irritating bitch. Bloody muggles, something else to put at their door…

He grabbed her shoulder. " Nose in the corner, hands on your head, no talking."

She tried to reach down to get her panties and he swatted her hands away. "Last warning, Granger. You still have those extras coming. I'd be good a good girl, if I were you." He smirked at her, enjoying seeing her rage fighting her sense of self preservation. She swallowed hard, averted her eyes, determined to get done with this nightmare as soon as possible.

" I think a lesson in humility is in order." He caught her hem and deftly tucked it into her waistband, baring her again. Her panties, long since kicked off, he tucked into his shirt pocket. "Think I'll keep these."

He let her stew a good half an hour, reading her notes which were, of course, perfect. The shame of it was awful, worse than anything. She fought back convulsive sobs and pictured ways to throw Malfoy in the lake with the Squid. Mmmm, yes, picturing the putrid little toe rag being torn asunder by the enormous cephalopod, how wonderful…

" Granger, stop smiling!" She tried to make her face blank but couldn't. Malfoy called her over to his side once more. That'd stop her smirking, he'd warrant!

He was right. Suddenly it seemed a lot less funny, somehow. She just wanted it over and came when called. He could see the hate and helplessness in her eyes, burning. It pleased him more than any declaration of love ever could. He had finally beaten the mudblood at something.

He turned her up and briskly reheated her steaming backside, ignoring her yelped protests. " This is for kicking me' he told her calmly before he tanned her left sit spot. "This is for trying to run away' he gave the right the same treatment. Finally he shifted her slightly and said, a bit louder than usual to be heard over her sobbing "And this is for that damned attitude."

He paddled her thighs mercilessly, half way to her knees. She kicked, sobbing harder than ever. The break made it worse than she could have imagined, having given her just enough time to cool down a bit. She went limp.

He let her cry a little, but not as much as before. He wanted to savor the look on her face, the utter shame and agony. He locked his hands on her arms. " Look at me."

She did. Her face was swollen and blotchy, nose running. Horrible.

" I did you a good turn tonight, mud blood. However much I made you suffer, it would have been a thousand times worse with Umbridge. You know that, don't you?"

She nodded still sobbing hard. "I think you should express a little gratitude. For having taken the time away from my duties and all that."

She froze. "You want me to—to t-thank you for--"

"You may start."

She could see an end in sight. "Th-thank you."

" For what, Granger? And to whom are you speaking?"

" Thank you for punishing me. Sir."

"Punishing you how?" He looked her in the eye, reveling in her humiliation. He'd learn to use a pensieve and live this moment again and again.

"Thank you for spanking me, sir." She nearly spat the words. He grinned. "You're quite welcome, Granger. I enjoyed it. You really do make the most wonderful sounds while you're getting your arse warmed, did you know that?"

She turned to go. "Granger?"

"Yes, Malfoy?"

Picking up his wand he murmured a spell. A jet of light hit her, and she felt a strange tingle. " A glamour, in case you get any ideas about trying to show anyone. Now only you and I can see it."

" Will that be all?"

" For now. How does next Tuesday at midnight sound, perhaps by the humpbacked witch statue?" He still had her wand.

"Sound for what, Malfoy?"

He gave a predatory grin. "You don't honestly think I'm done with you?"

She felt herself going pale. "What? You can't!"

"You made the oath. Never said how many times, did you?"

She felt rage building within herself. "How dare you, you miserable, wretched, slimy, sodding little son of a---" He lazily flicked his wrist and she found herself immobilized.

" My my, we are a slow learner. If I let you up, will you behave?"

He let her lie there another minute before he undid the spell.

" I'll have to think up something really special for next time, Granger, to pay you back for those nasty things you said. Or I'll simply go to Umbridge tomorrow morning and tell her everything. Do you suppose you can defend your parents if something were to happen?"

She went pale. " You can't! I went through with your damned bargain!"

" I agreed never to tell what went on while I punish you. I never said I wouldn't tell that you were out after curfew."

He stretched like a cat. " You made a deal and never thought to read the fine print. No one to blame but yourself, mud blood. Shall I walk you back?"

They left in silence. Hermione was fuming, filled with helplessness and anger. Draco was in high spirits, whistling even. He left her by the door to the common room, finally arming her again when her back was to him.

"Midnight, Granger. Every extra minute is another ten with the brush…or perhaps something you'll like even less."

She didn't want to think about what he could concoct. "Don't get any ideas about healing yourself, either. I want to watch you squirming on your stool tomorrow during class."

"Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"I wish you could know how much I hate you right now."

He laughed. "Do you think I care? Good night, mudblood."

He left, happy as a child on Christmas day. After all, he had a shiny new toy to play with, didn't he?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: The quote Draco attributes to 'The Littlest Hippogriff' is in fact Antoine de St. Exupery.**

**Many thanks to my betas, Visitkarte and Angels Broken Shadow**

**Please review: Authors improve through reviews.**

The next morning, after a miserable few hours of sleep, Hermione woke late, missed breakfast and had to run to her first class. She felt wrapped in cotton wool, everything slow and heavy and vague. The teachers noticed and worried aloud; she assured them it was simply a sleepless night which, really, was not a lie. McGonagall gave her a piercing look and said nothing more, while Sinistra, Slytherin to the core, marked this for future reference. She wouldn't have her star pupil fading due to simple lack of sleep.

Of course she had Potions and of course she arrived late and couldn't perform a discrete cushioning charm and of course Snape make a snide remark about whether she intended to sit down, unless she had a more pressing engagement? She was obliged to sit down normally, rather than lowering herself slowly to make it more bearable. Immediately a burning tingle spread everywhere she was touching that damnably hard seat. Awful!

Malfoy spent a very enjoyable Potions period watching the mud blood squirm. She looked wonderfully distressed and unhappy, even biting her lip and wiggling a bit when she thought no one would see. Tuesday seemed a million tedious hours away, until he could make her react just as he wanted her to. He was filled with pleasurable indecision… so many choices, so little time.

The weekend could never be long enough. She gnawed her cuticles until they bled, startled easily, got teary for no reason. Ron and Harry, concerned, tried to ask her about it Monday night.

" I'm fine." She was trying to work out an especially hard Arithmancy problem as she spoke.

" You're not fine, Hermione. What's really bothering you?"

She turned and gave them both a long, hard look. Harry glared right back.

"I'm having …pains."

Harry flushed. Ron, as always slightly behind the curve, asked innocently "Pains?"

" You know…girl pains."

Ron joined Harry in looking uncomfortable. "Oh. Well, I uh, hope you feel better." They decided a game of Exploding Snap was a good idea and quickly made an exit, not looking at anyone.

Tuesday night. She took her rucksack, gave her friends the usual excuse and departed, keeping careful watch to make sure Parkinson or Goyle weren't creeping up behind her. She made it to the humpbacked witch with and two minutes to spare.

" Actually managed to follow instructions, Granger?" He rounded the corner and gave her a distinctly nasty grin. She said nothing. He drew closer, still smiling, and breathed almost in her ear. " I believe I asked you a question. I said, you actually managed to follow instructions, didn't you?"

She set her jaw and took a deep, slow breath. "Yes, Malfoy, I did."

There was a noise behind them. They leapt apart, wands drawn, as Snape marched into view. "Mr. Malfoy…Miss Granger. Why am I not surprised to find you wandering the halls at this hour of the night?"

" She's with me, professor. I had to ask her something."

Snape eyed his godson askance. Draco was up to something, he'd be bound. The boy was serene, confident, eyeing him back. He wondered if Granger had turned spy, or Draco had. Or was this blackmail? Something more? He noticed the Granger girl's flushed cheeks and bright eyes, the slightly keyed up manner they both displayed. Snape suppressed a grin; they veritably stank of fornication, foreplay interrupted.

"All right then, Malfoy. I trust you will…take every precaution." He turned and swept away in a cloud of inky wool, musing to himself about what Lucius would do if he discovered that his beloved child and sole heir was fucking the most irritating and brilliant muggle born witch in a generation.

They made their way to the Room of Requirement. "Give me your wand and rucksack." He took her things to the table and began to dig through, carefully setting aside her books and parchments. He set it down and frowned at her. "No brush, mudblood?"

" I must have forgotten."

"I'm sure. Robes." He smirked.

She shucked her robes, folding them carefully and putting them beside her other things, wondering if she'd made an error in not bringing the brush. Better the demon you know…

Draco pushed away from the table and brought his chair to the middle of the room. "Come here, mudblood."

"No."

One fair eyebrow shot up. "I'm sorry ?"

"You've had your fun, all right? I'm sorry I was out after curfew, you got to humiliate me totally and I won't do it again. We're even."

He laughed hard, shoulders shaking. "I think not. This is such a good diversion, you see, that I'm not inclined to give it up. Tell me Granger, have you ever read a book called 'The littlest Hippogriff'?"

Thrown for a loop by this weird conversational turn, she could only shake her head. "One of my favorites as a child. At the end, one of the characters turns to another and says 'You are forever responsible for what you tame.'"

"That's all well and good, but what--"

"It means, Granger, that having introduced me to such a unique pleasure, it is your purview to see that it is kept under control."

Outrage surged through her. " How dare you force me to participate in this, this perversion and then blame me for it!"

He shrugged. "I never forced you, Granger. I gave you a choice and now you have to follow through. Not to mention, you are hardly the only girl at this school. If you were thrown out, I'd have to find a new playmate, wouldn't I? Not a Slytherin, Merlin, no, not someone I socialize with. Someone I can manipulate and control easily. Someone vulnerable. Someone younger, perhaps."

Her stomach roiled. "You sick bast--"

He raised a hand. "Now you see my dilemma. I have needs and you are a way for me to vent them with a minimum of harm. You can take it, Granger, but those other girls…what do you think it would do to them?' He patted his lap and watched coldly as she rose and came to him, blinking tears of rage and frustration.

"I'll smack you good and hard for this, of course. I would have anyway, but I think I'll give you something special to emphasis the point. For right now, though' he paused for dramatic affect, relishing the way she glared fruitlessly at him ' you may ask me to punish you."

"You want me ask for it?"

"That's what I said. Of course, you could choose to defy me and I could do something even worse. Your choice, mudblood."

She inhaled, pictured him being torn apart by rabid selkies and then said in a monotone "Please punish me, Malfoy."

"That will never do. Details, Granger, details. I'll overlook your usage of my name this time, but for every other time it's twelve with the brush."

"You actually want me to call you sir?"

He smirked. "Master is also acceptable. You may begin, mudblood."

"Please, sir, will you give—will you give me—will you smack me?"

" Details, I said ! We'll do it until you get this right."

She bit her tongue to keep from cursing him and made herself think of it as an Arithmancy problem. If she combined X flattery with Y personal abasement and followed the path of Malfoy's a right sadistic git, what would be the outcome? Her eventual release from this little Hell, that's what.

"Please, sir, take me over your knee and smack me until I cry. I know I deserve it for not showing you the respect you deserve and using your name."

He savored hearing his rival say that. Granger, at his mercy, obeying, humiliating herself at his behest. Oh, this was so, so good. He smiled lazily, the smile of a cat toying with a dying mouse. "Good girl. Pull your skirt up and your panties down and lie over my lap."

She went rigid. He would see her half naked. She literally couldn't make her hands move. He saw she was struggling and said clearly " Unless you'd rather I simply diffindo them off of you?"

She reached down and pulled her skirt up, holding it under her elbows. She jerked at her panties and nearly threw herself over his lap, desperate to spare her modesty. He gave an irritated snort. " When I told you to pull them down, I meant properly. To your knees next time, understand?" He punctuated it with a sharp swat and she gasped.

"Pardon?" He swatted again.

"Yes, sir!" He locked an arm about her waist and pulled her panties down to her ankles and then, to her shock, worked them over her sensible oxfords and put them beside her robes. "See what you get when you don't obey me?"

He angled her just so and then let her lie there. She shivered, feeling the cool air on her backside. She hated this awful, humiliating position. It was like her bum was the most conspicuous thing in the room, all she could concentrate on as she hung over Malfoy's knee, ready for a smacking. The sheer awfulness of the situation might have been funny if it weren't so horrible.

" I'm going to enjoy making you howl, mudblood. And who knows? Perhaps your tears and pleas will move me." He chuckled softly and lifted his hand.

She held still as long as she could, bit her tongue until it bled and Draco stopped and sat still to be sure he had her attention.

" If I didn't know any better, Granger, I'd swear I told you I wanted to hear you howling. Seems like you're defying me, doesn't it?"

She took a deep breath. "No sir, I just--"

He cracked a hand down harder than usual. "Perhaps I'm not giving you sufficient inducement."

He pinned her tighter and began to slap her vulnerable under curve, pleased by her breathy little sobs and kicking. He brought his hand back even farther and started to spank the place where her thighs connected to her bottom. She bucked, trying desperately to move her backside out of range.

"OWWW!"

"I like how pain sounds on you." Draco used a slightly louder voice than usual, thrilled by her reaction to the agony he was dealing. Her legs were scissoring wildly, her dully red arse bouncing and moving under his hand. He could feel the dreadful heat rising from her flesh, the tremor that went through her each time his hand connected and increased the blaze in her backside.

"Beg, Granger. Promise me you'll never do it again." His breath was coming in ragged pants, his hands stiff and burning. He hugged her tightly against his torso, smacking her thighs until she yowled.

"**P-PLEASEI PROMISENEVERAGAINPLEASE**!" Hermione tried not to scream it, at least. She could save that for herself. Inside her, disgust warred with a strange relief. Here, at least, she didn't have to be the self controlled voice of reason. Malfoy was hurting her, killing her, but she could cry and wail and not care what it looked like or whether her professors liked it. And at some deeper level, as much as she hated this horrific self abasement, she felt almost righteous; by submitting to Malfoy, she spared some poor younger student this shame and agony.

"Tell me you'll be a good little girl." This was well and truly ecstasy. Draco wondered if one's heart could explode from a surfeit of bliss. She was near breaking point and he knew it, pushed her that extra tiny bit.

"**ILLBEAGOODGIRLPLEASENOMORESIRPLEASE!"**

Hermione went limp, crying too hard to form words. She let her head hang level with her feet and bawled, embarrassed and appalled and relieved and virtuous and disgusted all at once.

For his own part, Malfoy had a sudden problem. He couldn't dump her off his lap; neither could he let her lie there and notice his…situation. He put his hands under he arms and tried to goad her into standing. "Up you get, Granger, we're hardly done."

She tried to stand, almost fell. He caught her, and held her up a moment. She pulled away, not wanting him to touch her. Her pulled his chair back into place and quickly donned his robes.

"Corner, Granger. Go on, before I change my mind." She quickly made her way to the corner and he followed, tucked her skirt up just like before. For good measure he stuck her hands to her head and then willed something as hard as he could.

A little cubicle appeared in the corner nearest to Draco that wasn't currently full of mudblood. He raced inside, filled with hate and lust and confusion. He never intended to take it this far—he just wanted to try it, just the once. He had expected to like it but not to feel this—this--- the mudblood, the fucking filthy mudblood, the whoring mudblod--he couldn't shut out the feeling of her body grinding into his, the warm damp feel of her skin under his palm, the way her legs felt drumming his thigh, the high gasping pants so like—he groaned once, loudly, and then it was done, an instant of sweet and amoral release. He vanished the mess, washed his hands and face and then reemerged, determined to punish Granger for making him—for doing that to him.

She was still crying. Hard. At same level Draco knew he should feel—something, but all he felt was glad. Stupid Granger. He wished it were anyone but she, anyone. Parkinson, for instance, or Reynolds or Mallow or—any girl but the mudblood. Because then it wouldn't be so bad, would be normal, even encouraged.

She was tempting him. She knew what it did to him and was tormenting him. The thought of using her body filled him with revulsion and shame and horror, but he couldn't shake that hot, damp skin beneath his hand, her noises and squirming. She was wearing some kind of body lotion; he could smell it when she sweated, soapy and sweet.

He unstuck her and called her to the table. "Bend over."

He studied the damage. Bright, hot red. Glowing, almost pretty. He knew if he cupped it her flesh would feel like sunburn and she'd give a soft little moan, a gasp, and dance on her toes, wanting so much to rub her burning skin but knowing it would get her into worse trouble if she did. It would feel slightly rough under his hands, but still smooth and soft…

No. No. He rummaged for her knapsack and pulled out a quill, transfigured it. Moving softly, he stood at her side. "Count them."

Hermione tensed. She felt him pull his arm back and then 'THWAP!'

"**OWWW**!" She straightened, half spun. He was holding a heavy wooden ruler and smirking at her.

"Oh dear, mudblood. You didn't count or stay in position. That's extra, you know. I think on the thighs, so you can feel them when you sit down. Now bend over and we'll start again."

**THWAP! "OWWWWWWWWWWONE!"**

"One what? Last one doesn't count, now start again."

**THWAP!"OWWW!ONESIR!"**

**THWAP! "OWWWWTWOSIR!"**

**THWAP! "THREESIRPPLEASEE!"**

**THWAP! "FOURRROWWSIRRPLEASEE!"**

**THWAP! "FIIIIIIIIVVVESIIIRRROWWWWW!"**

**THWAP!"SIIIIIIIIIIIIIXXXXAIEOOOWW!SIRRR!"**

**THWAP! "SEEEEVVVNNN!AAAAIIIIIIIEEEESIRRR!"**

**THWAP! "ATTEE!OWWWWWWWWAAAHHSIRROWW!"**

**THWAP! "NIIIIIINNNEEE! PLEEEEEEEEASESIRRRRROWWW!**

**THWAP! "TENNNNNNNOWWWWWSIRRRNOOOMOOOOOORRE!"**

She was bouncing frantically on her toes, arse on fire. He reached over and, with a moue of distaste, pushed a hand into her back to hold her down. He applied the ruler briskly to each thigh, just as promised. He didn't maker her count; she was crying too hard to make sense.

Finally he stopped and the only sounds were the harsh breathing of one and the sobbing of the other. He dropped the ruler and watched, appalled and exultant, as the stripes formed on her skin. She had to be in hideous pain, wretched pain and he had caused it…did he feel vindicated?

No. Draco still felt that awful curiosity to see whether her skin felt as burning hot as it looked. His hand came forward and a finger lightly traced a stripe. She jumped, whined, fidgeted. "I didn't say you could move."

He gently pressed his hand onto her burning arse. She gasped as his cold skin came in contact, hesitated. She sobbed, scared he would touch her, but he simply rested.

"Go in the WC and wash your face, mudblood. Stay in there until I call you."

Hermione went in and bathed her face, not looking at herself. She couldn't even begin to quantify how she felt. He quietly summoned an elf, explained that he had been studying and burned his finger slightly with some candle wax; Nippy was to get him some cooling salve, not mention it to anyone, understood?

The elf was more than happy to oblige and within minutes Draco was holding a tub of the stuff, as well as the panties he'd taken as punishment. He sent the elf away and called the mudblood. She wouldn't look at him, which was just fine. He sat down again and called her over.

"Over my knee. No, not for that. I ah—ordered some salve. Simply so it doesn't attract attention tomorrow in class, understand? I'm not always going to be so kind to you." He began smearing the stuff into her skin. He could see where it was needed, after all, and it wouldn't do to have his toy getting the wrong kind of attention.

She relaxed a little as the salve took the edge off the sting. It didn't really help much, but it cooled the worst of the flames. Sitting would be pure hell, but it would be a possible hell.

He recapped the salve. "Up and look at me."

"What do you say, Granger?"

"Thank you, sir, for giving me a smacking."

"And?"

"Giving me salve. Sir."

He nodded for her to re-dress. She roughly pulled her skirt down, gasping at the feel of her wool kilt on her scorched rear end, and decided to forego panties all together. Draco took a moment in the WC to straighten up and when he came out, she was quite herself again. He noticed as she was closing her robes that her fingertips were bloody.

Without thinking he seized her hand in his. Small, warm hand. The finger tips were bitten ragged, not only the nails but the cuticles as well. He sneered.

" Have you never heard of a nail file?"

"I had other things on my mind." He shot her a dangerous look and she said quickly "Sir."

"Don't come here with them like this again. It's unsanitary and looks hideous." Flipping her palms he accio'd the ruler and gave each one a warning swat, not as hard as it should have been. " Did you care for your first taste of the ruler?"

"No, sir."

"I'd bring the brush next time, then."

They turned to go. He reached out again and grabbed her arm. " Remember what I said about healing yourself?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're to heal your fingers but not your arse. I will know if you disobey and double tonight's punishment. Saturday night at ten thirty, by the humpbacked witch again. I think you know not to be late." He quickly did the glamour again, slightly sorry he had to conceal the marks of his…triumph? Shame?

He walked her back, not whistling this time. He felt tired and victorious and guilty in a way he didn't want to think about. He rearmed her and watched as she vanished into the portrait hole.

He would see her tomorrow and say nothing. She would not seek him out. His hand remembered her flesh, scalding and tender. He went back to his dorm and showered, the hot water reddening his translucent skin. He closed his eyes and let the spray wash away her last trace, that image of her. He was a Malfoy, after all; until Saturday night, she was only the mudblood again.


	3. Chapter 3

First things first, my many debts:

To K., for her kind suggestions and tireless answers.

To Lurking Dragon, whose series of CP stories taught me that fetish stories can have plots and complex characters.

To my betas, Visitkarte and Angels Broken Shadows, for their constant help and support.

To you, dear readers. Thank you for your time.

Also, a warning: Some of the content from here on out is likely to be fairly...extreme. **THERE BE KINK HERE.** However, no actual sex as of yet.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They met that next time, and then things fell into a kind of rhythm. They met twice a week, mostly, sometimes less, never more. They never met outside the Room, never spoke about it. It was something that happened, like the tide.

For Malfoy, the thing had begun to take on shades of dreaming, or nightmares. It was a cycle, as thought the mudblood had infected him with some kind of lycanthropy. When she was not there, he was Draco Malfoy, of the Wiltshire Malfoys, witty and urbane and cruel, a pureblood's pureblood. When they were alone, he turned into a creature of impulse, ruled by sensation. The pain he dealt her; the sting and gasp, the high sobs, his own mounting pain/pleasure as the friction drove his responses to the nth degree. Sometimes he wondered who was the more miserable between the two of them.

Hermione tried not to think about it. Tried not to feel better as she cried. To forget the streams of sensation his touch could bring, as his fingers cooled a welt; the way her stomach pulled tight in fear and anticipation as she felt him tense to strike her, the silence between them as the brush or ruler ascended to begin its inevitable arc. She dismissed the part of her that said she liked it, the same as she brushed the boys off when they scolded her for working too hard. Malfoy was an obligation, that was all.

When she heard about Mr. Weasley, she was as shocked and horrified as the rest of them. So close to Christmas and now this… she cried almost as hard as Ginny did, late at night. It sometimes felt to her the world was going insane, and she could go with it or fight a losing battle. She went to her meeting with Malfoy with a dreadful sense of relief—she could let go of it all for an hour or two.

Malfoy shifted and sighed. Granger, normally the soul of punctuality, was late. Almost five minutes late, and would she ever pay for it! He shivered slightly in pleasurable anticipation and then changed feet. He'd had to shoo Crabbe and a very persistent Parkinson away from their meeting spot. If she didn't get there soon and he had to look for her…

She rounded a corner and nearly smacked into him. Hermione gasped in shock as Malfoy's hand lashed out and stopped her forward momentum. He pulled her to a stop and up, so close their noses were almost touching. " Late, Granger? We'll have to have a little discussion about it, won't we?"

She blanched. They went into the Room side by side, his hand still tightly on her bicep. Hermione relaxed slightly as his bony hand was withdrawn. Malfoy wandered around, deceptively casual. She watched him, knowing he would plan something really dreadful and too upset to care. He turned around and came to stand before her.

" I've thought of just the thing. First off, robes, you're going over my knee for a thorough smacking. Hurry now, wouldn't want any extras." Hermione knew better than to argue, by now. She shucked her robe and left it folded on the table. She turned around in time for Malfoy to notice her attire.

""Granger? What is that?" Draco wasn't sure he could sneer and gag at the same time, but by Merlin's pants, he would try. The mudblood was attired in a very normal (cheap looking, naturally) skirt and sensible loafers, but the shirt…

Hermione found herself defensively pulling her arms over her chest. "A jumper. One of my Dad's old ones." She loved her Dad's old fisherman sweater; it was worn soft and cozy, baggy and wonderful. It wrapped her in a cloud of comfort and the faint smell of 4711 cologne, like her Dad. She felt better just touching it.

"Is your family simply destitute, or do muggles consider sharing ratty old clothes a social activity?"

She scowled. " My family's got enough for me to have new clothes if I wanted them, Malfoy. I just don't care about those things very much. Not like some girls I could mention."

He laughed. " If that's a poorly aimed jab at Parkinson, then I expect you feel I should defend her to you. I shan't. We aren't here for a little tete a tete, mudblood."

In short order she was turned up, Malfoy's hand cracking down regularly. Hermione tried to keep still as Malfoy smacked her. She always tried so hard, but Malfoy was strong, and he knew how to make it hurt. She wondered sometimes what he must have endured to make him so good at this. He spent a long time whacking her backside and then lifted his leg to heat her sit spots. She hated when he did that. The embarrassing position and the events of the past few days bound together. She gasped and burst into hard, wracking sobs.

Draco stopped. The mudblood never reacted this early. He stayed his hand and waited a moment to see if she'd stop as well; if so, he'd know she was faking and blister her until she shrieked. She gave no indication she noticed he'd stopped; kept crying as though her heart would break. He huffed with irritation. "Granger, stop that at once."

Her emotions were winding down anyway. She took a deep breath and swallowed hard. "I'm s-sorry. The past few days have been just dreadful." She sniffled, determined to regain her lost dignity. Wiping her hand across her eyes, she took another deep calming breath, just as she'd been taught.

Malfoy felt annoyed. If she was going to act like a lunatic over his knee, she might have the taste to do so because he was striking her. It vexed him to no end that she was upset about something apparently unrelated to the fact he was beating her. Classless, really. His mind, wandering, hit on a rumor he'd heard and he decided to play the odds.

"This little outburst wouldn't have anything to do with the fact Weasley's father was nearly snake-food, would it?"

Granger stopped crying. To his shock, she actually had the gall to stand without his permission, right her clothes and prepare to give him hell. " How dare you joke about a thing like that? Mr. Weasley could have killed by that damned snake, and you make light of it?" She prepared to turn, get her things but…she couldn't. The Oath was holding her in place, not like the Imperius but more a cautioning voice that warned her to stop. She was free to leave at any time; doing so would violate the oath and allow Malfoy to tell.

Malfoy could see her struggling. He gave her his nicest smile and did his best to imitate Lucius' patented ' you're in serious trouble voice' the one that still made Draco's stomach drop. "If you're finished with your little fit, Granger, we can commence again. Unless you'd prefer I walk you to Umbridge?" She shook her head, trudged over. To her surprise he rose.

Draco was pleased. He had an excuse to really give it to her, and an excellent one, too. He was amazed she dared to give him cheek in her vulnerable position. Well, not really; Granger had the self preservation instincts of a baby pygmy puff. Her total lack of impulse control was a good thing, for him, if less so for her. Besides, he told himself as he desperately willed her not to notice his swelling erection, he was helping her. She couldn't go on like this, and he was encouraging her to behave in a more mature fashion. Surely if it were like that, it couldn't be wrong for him to enjoy it so?

"It's war, mudblood. War isn't a game with rules and penalties and everyone playing nice all the time. People get killed." Draco had grown up hearing about the glories of war from Lucius and found her attitude ridiculous.

" Mr. Weasley almost died, Malfoy. Doesn't that mean anything to you?" He looked her in the eye; he liked seeing the mudblood upset—loved it, actually—but only when he was the cause. He resented that she was distracted from her job of suffering for him.

" One more or less blood traitor, what's the difference? When the Dark Lord is triumphant, they'll all be snake meat." He expected her to cry, yell, do anything but look at him as she was, as though he were a butterfly, pinned and ready for the glass case.

" Not you, Granger, never fear. I shall ask the Dark Lord if I may keep you as a pet. Won't it be splendid, just the two of us? Then I can show you what pain really is." Hermione had to resist very sternly the urge to punch him again.

"You're a wretched sod and I hope you die choking in your own blood." Malfoy threw back his head and laughed aloud. "Ahh, Granger, flattery will get you everywhere. Still, we have your punishment to think about, don't we?"

" A little time in the corner first, I think." To her embarrassment he grabbed hold of her wrist and dragged her like a recalcitrant child to the same corner she always stood in. Drawing his wand, he murmured a spell and traced a circle. None too gently, he shoved her head toward the circle. "Nose there, and Merlin help you if you move."

When he was sure she was obeying him, he closed his eyes and concentrated hard, much harder than he had for the WC. He was pleased and more than pleased with the result-taking a careful tour of what he had created and, finding it just perfect, Draco uncornerned his toy.

Hermione couldn't contain her gasp. The room was had changed. It was much larger, for one thing. Huge, in fact. Large enough to accommodate a small…house? Cottage? Building, at any rate, with the cutest little copse of trees next to it, even a tiny meadow and little stream in the stone floor. It was like a fairy tale. Handsel and Gretel, she thought and then winced. Perhaps a bit too apt for comfort.

Malfoy got a firm hold on her wrist again. "Malfoy, let me go! I can still walk."

Draco stopped and eyed her levelly. " When you act like a child, Granger, it seems appropriate to treat you like one. Stop fighting and come along." He led her, seething but quiet, into the structure. Though Granger wouldn't know it, it looked very like a scaled down Malfoy Manor. At least parts of Malfoy Manor.

Everything was so beautiful, Hermione thought breathlessly. Opulent rugs of sky blue and celery green muffled their feet as they walked through the little atrium, the walnut paneled walls gleaming with beeswax. Malfoy was silently leading her into the depths of the place, which her rational mind told her was impossible. She was struck again by the sheer wondrousness of magic, the terror and glory of it all.

Draco, more or less inured to magic by now, was flashing back to childhood. His own punishments had often begun this way, the walk in disgrace, fear clenching his stomach as he realized just how badly he was in for it. He tightened his grip on Granger's arm and purposely walked faster, utilizing his longer legs to make her have to go more quickly to keep up, pulling slightly to keep her off balance..

Hermione had never gotten a serious punishment from her parents. She'd always been a good, obedient girl who could be trusted to keep her head. She'd never been tugged along by an angry parent, but she felt herself tensing with apprehension. She hated the way she was being drug along but, from the look on Draco's face, making an issue about it would be a bad idea.

The walk seemed to take forever but at last they came to a door, dark paneled and ornately carved. He twisted the knob and the door glided silently over the soft carpet, this one a dusty mauve. Giving her a swat to the backside to propel her, he closed the door behind them.

They were in a parlor. Hermione took in the soft silk covered divans and wing chairs, the fireplace, the French doors to the little glade. Malfoy seemed nonplussed. Shucking his robes, he hung them on a discreet coat tree and then stood before her.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself, hmm?" He crossed his arms and glowered, trying to look as imposing as Father. It seemed unfair to him that Lucius got all that experience gradually, while he was thrust into things, as it were.

" I—uh, I mean—you were--"

" This isn't about me, Granger. Surely you know better than to raise your voice to me?"

She found herself nodding without meaning to. She hated herself for playing along, she really did. Draco paused to let her stew a bit, then paced slightly. This was fun—why hadn't he done this before?

"Since you can't act like an adult, I see no real need to treat you like one. First things first, I'm going to finish your smacking."

He sat on the divan and called her to stand between his knees. "Hands on your head." He took hold of the hem of her skirt and tucked it into her waistband, baring her. Then he put his hands on either side of her waistband and unceremoniously yanked her knickers to her knees, not bothering to spare her modesty a bit. He jumped and opened her mouth to protest, only to get a sharp whack on the bum for her pains. "Shush, mudblood. You really have it coming you."

Seizing her elbows, he pulled her over his knee, carefully clamping her so she couldn't kick. Then he drew his wand and calmly stuck her arms to her back and her torso to his so she couldn't move. She was helpless, unable to move without his say-so. He savored her utter helplessly, totally at his mercy.

" In this situation, I think Granger a tad formal, don't you? So for now you're Hermione. And who am I?"

She had to swallow hard, utterly humiliated. "Sir."

"That's correct. Now, why are being punished?"

"Because I was rude to you. Sir." She felt a tear trickle down her cheek. This was so awful. At least before he hadn't lectured her this way.

" You were terribly rude and disrespectful, weren't you? And you need a hard smacking to help you remember your manners. Ask me for it nicely, Gra-Hermione."

"P-please, sir, smack me until I cry. I was very rude and d-disrespectful to you."

" I want you to remember this the next time you feel like being stroppy with me. All it will earn you is a red arse."

He raised his hand, locked his legs tightly over hers and brought his hand down with a deafening smack. Hermione yelped as her bum caught instant fire. It really hurt! He brought his down a second time, then a third, all on the same place. To her deep chagrin, she found she couldn't control the tears that stung her eyes and then ran down her cheeks. She began to cry out with every third swat, then every other, then finally every hard, even slap that he dealt her. Finally, he paused.

"Would you like to tell me what you've learned so far?"

" OWWWW! S-Sorry, I'm sorry! I was r-rude! Bad! PLEEEAASEE, HURRTTS!"

Draco tightened his hold on her waist and raised his leg to attack her sit spots, which he'd left untouched. She sobbed even harder and, raising his voice to be heard, cracked her left sit spot a good one and said as sternly as he could "You see what happens to naughty girls? I warrant you won't feel like giving me cheek for a long time, will you?" SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK!

She couldn't move, couldn't fight, couldn't do anything but let Malfoy scold her while he paddled her burning backside even hotter. She put her head down and sobbed, overcome by her utter lack of control and the dreadful pain. She couldn't even kick her legs; he was controlling her reactions.

"NOOO, NOOO, PLEEAASSE! BURRRNS! OWWWW!" Draco could feel her trying to twist against him and took greatest pleasure in quashing her. He paused again, waiting for the worst of her hysterics to pass and then gave her a tap on her thigh to get her attention.

"My word, what a mess you are! We're almost finished, just a bit more.' He felt he relax slightly at the news and smiled a conniving little smile. "Once more, what have you learned?"

" Not to be rude and disrespectful to you, sir."

"That's right. Because naughty girls ( SMACK) get their ( SMACK) arses whacked ( SMACK ), good and hot( SMACK) ( SMACK) so they never ( SMACK ) do it ( SMACK) again(SMACK). Isn't that so?"

"YES! NEVER AGAIN! PLEAASE!"

He nodded and unstuck her, carefully lifting her off his lap. Getting a firm grip on her wrist, he led her to a corner with a convenient chair already in. "Sit down, you're doing more time in the corner."

"Please don't make it sit. It hurts enough, I promise!" He gave her a dreadful scowl. "I'll decide that. If you're arguing with me, clearly you need another good smacking. Maybe the brush this time…"

Her bawling took a frantic quality. "No, no I'll sit! Please, sir, I'll sit!"

He sat down in the chair and pulled her over, giving her a half dozen smacks on her bright pink thighs. She howled, kicking and he found himself having to wait again. 'Must learn to time these things better…'

"Do you want to sit, or shall I get the brush?"

"Sit, please sir! Sorry, sorry!" He wondered what McGonagall would say, seeing her shining star bent over, red arse bouncing as she kicked and cried like a child. He gave her a few more swats for good measure and then traded places with her.

" You sit here and think about what you did. I'll be preparing your next lesson."

As he expected, the news they weren't done was met with scant enthusiasm. He opened the door next to the fireplace and was delighted to see an office like Father's. With the same onyx WC, where he took care of himself as quietly as possible. His mind drifted to Granger, skirt still rucked up, glowing arse on full display where it wasn't pressing the wood of the chair. He couldn't imagine how humiliated she must have felt, spanked and then put in the corner like she was five and not fifteen. And he had done it to her. His release mercifully blotted out all thought, and when he emerged, it was with purpose in his stride.

She was as he'd left her, hands clamped tightly together, tears stained face sad and sorry. He move quietly behind her and relished her startled gasp when he began to speak.

"Tell me, Granger, what do you know about America?"

She blinked. " Not much, I suppose, My mother went for a conference once. She said it was nice."

"My father happens to have in his possession a number of very interesting—and perfectly legal, I'll have you know—books about magic and magical cultures all over the world. The Americans have the quaintest custom when it comes to child rearing. When children there are naughty, what do you suppose they do?"

"I don't know. "

"They send them out to get a limber tree limb from a tree and bring it back. Then they bend them over something and use it to thoroughly stripe their arses. Sounds fun, doesn't it?"

Hermione thought it sounded anything but fun. She swallowed hard and braced herself. She tried on concentrate on the feelings of anger and hurt instead of fear. Breath, relax, breathe. She shifted slightly and felt the awful twinge of her still very sore backside.

Malfoy helped her stand. " All right, go pick a switch for me to use on you. If you aren't back in five minutes, I'll find you and choose it myself." He gave her back her wand so she could diffindo the switch and watched, self satisfied as a cat, as she walked away.

She walked through the French doors and into the cool of the little glade. The tiny stream was babbling, the stone room was quiet and pleasant. She went to untuck her skirt and heard Malfoy's strident voice from behind her. "You leave that up! I never told you to cover yourself!"

"Fucking git." She made sure to speak to quietly and went to the first tree. It seemed to have no suitable limbs. The second was likewise bare, but the third, like the bear's porridge, had a multiplicity of small green limbs. She carefully chose a little skinny one, the most harmless looking one she could find.

He was consulting his pocket watch when she walked back inside, carefully closing the door.

" Four minutes and thirty eight seconds. Close, very close. Let me see what you picked." She handed it to him and he examined it closely, trying not to let one that he hadn't the faintest clue what he was looking for.

"Adequate, I suppose." He picked up a few of the fluffy swans down and stacked them on the end of the divan. "Lie down, that's right, bum nice and high."

She obediently positioned herself, wondering why she didn't stun him and run. She was armed, after all. As though sensing her thoughts, he calmly leaned over and slid the wand from her hand. "Hands up, Hermione." He stuck them to the divan and, after a moment's thought, stuck her to cushions and the cushions to the divan. Only the top half; no reason not to mix business and pleasures, the sages be damned.

" I must say, I did rather a good job punishing you. Your bum looks like it's on fire. How does it feel?"

She bit back a sob of shame. "H-hurts, sir. It's very painful."

Malfoy made a sound of approval. "Is it? Good, that means you're perhaps not…it's really very enjoyable, having a reason to punish you. " He thought of something he'd like and the Room responded with a small tin of ointment. Hermione leapt when something slimy and cold touched her. Malfoy hissed with annoyance.

"Hold still. It's salve to keep you from bruising. Unless you'd like some marks?"

She shook her head. His hand spread a thin coat all over the reddened flesh, careful to avoid anywhere…untoward. He even did her thighs for her, as clinical and detached as a medi-wizard.

Draco was very excited for this next part; he'd never dreamed he'd actually get to do this to someone. His enemy, his hated rival, bent over, awaiting his chastisement. He felt himself reacting and did nothing to check it; it couldn't be unnatural to take pleasure in humiliation of a wanton, foolish girl, could it?

" I want you to remember this the next time you consider disobeying me. However much it burns and stings, you might have spared yourself if you had been a good girl and not tried to leave. I'll not make you ask this time. Brace yourself."

He picked the switch up and snapped it in the air with a crisp swish. Hermione felt him tap her twice to establish his aim. Malfoy drew back his arm and-

SWISH! "OWWWWW!"

Hermione thought Malfoy could do no worse to her than he had. In thirty seconds he completely destroyed this notion as a thin, burning welt of white hot heat bit into her bum. She couldn't control the sounds she was making. She couldn't control the way she was moving frantically to avoid the blows, causing the switch to catch her inner thighs every so often. She certainly couldn't control the horrible burning agony Malfoy was silently dealing out.

SWISH! "OWWWWWW!"

SWISH! "AIEEEEEEEE! OWWWWWWWWWWSTOPPLEEAASE!"

SWISH! "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! SORRRRY!"

SWISH! "PLEEEEEEEEEEAASEEOWWWWWWWWW!"

SWISH! "PLEEEEEEEEAASSEE ILLBEEEEGOOOD!"

Malfo stopped. " I'd like to believe that, Hermione. Unfortunately, your track record would tend to contradict you. You've had this coming a long time. I'm doing you a favor, really. What do you say when someone does you a favor?"

"T-th-thank you. Sir."

"Good girl. Can you ask nicely for the rest of your switching?"

"Please sir, may I have the rest of my switching now?"

"You may." He finished with a flurry of very hard blows that left her wailing. Panting, he stood beside Hermione, watching his toy fight for control. He had to admire how well she took things, really. Even now, strawberry colored backside still on display, she was fighting to control her tears.

Hermione felt…better. A huge stone had lodged itself on her heart when she heard about the attack; it broke free and dissolved while she screamed and kicked and generally made a spectacle of herself. She forced herself to breathe deeply and lie still, and while the fiery burn didn't diminish, she found she didn't mind as much as she did. Or should have, for that matter.

If Draco were to be totally honest, he would have admitted he were a little disturbed by the mudblood's weird calm. It seemed to him she should have been still bawling and wiggling for him, but instead her cries had ceased, her struggles likewise, and her sobbing now was close to relief. On the other hand, the switch had been a marvelous success.

"Do you suppose you'll remember your lessons, Hermione, or will you be getting another switch soon?"

"Hmmm? No, I'll remem-ohhh-remember." To his great pique, she was falling asleep. He bent to grab her arm, pull her up and take her back to her corner, but suddenly he didn't want to. He couldn't send her back like this anyway. Unsticking her, he swiftly jerked the pillows from under her and spelled her a little higher on the divan.

He walked to the study and pulled down a book at random, determined to read. He took it back to the parlor and sat down in a chair, trying to ignore the half naked mudblood sleeping a few feet away. She shivered in her sleep. He transfigured a doily into an afghan and spread it on his dozing toy.

Hermione woke slowly. Malfoy was seated nearby, casually paging through a book. He seemed to feel her scrutiny, for he slammed the book shut and looked her in the eye. "Thought you'd never wake up."

He stood and calmly got his robes, preparing to leave. "Come along, mudblood. Some of us haven't been snoring for the past two hours."

She pushed herself up and felt the blanket brush her scorched rear end. Gasping, her hands flew back to rub. A voice stopped her almost as soon as she'd begun. " No you don't, mudblood. When I punish you, I expect you to endure the pain. It's half the fun for me, you know."

She blushed bright red when she realized he hadn't pulled her skirt down. Standing, finally, she followed him out of the cottage and back into the Room. He handed her knickers, long disgarded, back to her and pointedly turned around so she could don them. Again, she forwent them and simply slid back into her robes.

"Next time, Granger, I expect you to come attired appropriately. Haven't you any nice clothes at all?"

"My clothes are nice." She wasn't going to be baited, no matter what. She picked up her rucksack and looked to him for her wand, which he duly surrendered.

" I take that as a 'no'." He mind began to work … he really didn't want his time spoiled by Granger's Father's decrepit old rag of a sweater again.

He walked her back, giving her the time of their next meeting. At the portrait hole she paused and turned back. "Thank you. I feel much better." The mudblood was gone in a cloud of wiry dun colored hair.

Draco shook his head, annoyed. "Feels better, indeed. I shall have to remedy that at once."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N :** ** I generally don't like PWP, but I feel there's very little PWP out there dealing with the edgier shores of desire. On the other hand, I don't want this to degenerate into a mass of increasingly sadistic fantasies on Draco's part. So while this chapter is fairly straighforward, keep your eyes peeled for an actual plot at some point in the near future.**

**Thanks to my betas, Visitkarte and Angels Broken Shadows. And yourselves, dear readers.**

**Please R&R.**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Malfoy's holiday was dull, dull, dull. His parents were pre-occupied and distant, especially his father. He spent a good deal of time skulking about by himself. He found to his mild amazement that he missed his toy a little. Not her damned prating voice, nor her earnest, bookish looks; he missed the thrill of power and domination, the stimulation her screams and tears gave him. His longing was that of an old roué—erotic nostalgia tempered not the slightest bit by love.

On the first day back he lingered by the door of the train, watching for his toy's debarkation. She got off with the red haired moron, though Scar Head was nowhere to be seen—perhaps mooning after some girl. The moron and she were laughing, and as he watched, the moron put a hand on her arm for a second. That made Malfoy uneasy, though he could not say why.

Hermione had also had a less than enjoyable holiday. There seemed to be no potion that would block the dreams, for one. For another, Harry seemed possessed by a new urgency, though he could not say why. This sense of needing to hurry in turned pushed her to work ever harder, and she returned nearly as tired as she left.

Her Nan's health had worsened a lot since her last stroke, and her parents had been fairly distracted; not that Hermione minded, but they would have noticed the circles under her eyes else. She was glad they had not- she felt bad enough she could not be more of a help than she was already.

So when classes began, she threw herself in. Her meeting with Malfoy was scheduled for Saturday night, which, if she had to meet with the toe rag, was as good a time as any, she supposed. Friday was the first DA meeting. That afternoon, she dropped her stuff in the dorm. She opted to put on a pair of blue jeans—Harry rarely remembered to heat the room, and anyway, ever since a near mishap involving Neville and a misaimed Blasting spell, she'd thought trousers the better choice. Hefting her rucksack, she walked to the Room.

It was a good meeting. Everyone was slowly getting better, and Harry looked pleased, though very gaunt, she thought. Hermione made a mental note to mention that he needed to eat more, then watched as the others left in ones and twos. The Room was quiet and a small fire was burning in the grate.

"Think I'll stay here and study a little." Ron looked ready to protest, but she gave him a fierce look. : " I just need some time alone, all right?"

A concerned look passed between the two boys. "Is everything okay, Hermione? You've been acting kind of funny lately."

She sighed. "I'm fine."

"No, you aren't. You act like you're in pain half the time."

Was it that blatantly obvious? Harry was glaring very sternly, and even Ron looked more focused and serious than usual. When he scowled like that, he looked more like Percy, she noticed absently.

" If I could tell you, I would."

Harry expelled a breath and forced his fists to unclench. She swallowed hard, wishing so much she didn't have to lie to them. If only she could tell…she was a Gryffindor and forced down the part of her that could have blurted it all out right then. She could bear it herself; had to do.

"Don't you trust us anymore, 'Mione?"

"Of course I do! It's just…complicated. Please believe me, if I could tell you I would." To her horror she felt tears pricking her eyes. She was trapped utterly, and her own negligence was the direct cause. Sniffling, she dug for a handkerchief, then finally just hid her face.

None of them knew it, but they had reached a crossroads. The Earth did not move. The skies did not open. Nonetheless, what played out between the three of them in that room determined a good many things to come, some momentous and some miniscule. It is perhaps a mercy that that did not know this was the hour—it might have haunted them later. It did not, for to them it was a link in the chain, not the clasp.

Harry backed off. In his attempt to quell her tears, he backpedaled. "What it it? Your Gran again?" He felt an awful, selfish relief when she nodded. Harry didn't want Hermione to be overtired because she was working too hard on his behalf. Mostly, mainly, because he loved her like a sister and was afraid she would hurt herself if she didn't slow done; but, a sneaky voice whispered, also because he needed her.

" And you're sure you're okay?" Ron hated it when she cried. He tried to think of something to make her feel better and found nothing. He tried a smile instead. Through her tears, Hermione wondered whether Ron had been bitten by something; he was making the strangest grimace…

"I'm fine, really. I just need some time to work on all this, that's all."

"Well, if you need to, umm, talk or something, we can…"

She nodded. "Thank you. I'll be up in a little while."

They left together and decided a snack would not go amiss. The house elves adored Harry and would happily make him anything he asked for; there was bound to be left over roast chicken from supper. They never noticed Draco Malfoy, hiding behind a tapestry and smiling a sneaky little smile.

Hermione couldn't concentrate. The talk with the boys had unsettled her and she needed to go to the library for a book anyway. She stepped from the Room, intending on coming straight back. A familiar hand dug into her shoulder. Malfoy. Damn him.

"Wandering the halls again, were we mudblood?"

She tried to turn, only to have him tense his arm. "No. I'm on my way to the library." She went to walk away, only to have his other hand lash out and catch her elbow.

"Not anymore."

She succeeded in pulling away. "Be fair, Malfoy. We aren't to meet until tomorrow, and I have to work on Arithmancy."

His hand fastened on her wrist. " I said come along, Granger. Now."

She jerked her arm back, stumbling a little bit. "No."

She made it as far as the end of the corridor. A huge hand, heavy and damp, lashed out with surprising speed and latched onto her neck. The looming, repellent face of Gregory Goyle was perhaps an inch from hers. "What have we here?" He smiled, thin lips pulling back to show small, even teeth. Her stomach rolled; she could smell his sweat, a rankly animal stench.

"Goyle! Let her go, idiot."

Malfoy rounded the corner in time to see his sycophant manhandling his pet mudblood. He felt his blood heating; Draco Malfoy didn't share his toys. He swiftly crossed the cool corridor and stepped between them.

" That's enough. I'll deal with this one."

Goyle frowned. He wasn't sure he liked having Draco take his fun away; on the other hand, it was Draco. He let the mudblood go, not without regret, and wiped his hand on his robe ( she could have some kind of mudblood disease, after all).

Hermione's heart was pounding fast. Dimly, she felt Malfoy take hold of her and shove her toward the door, murmuring to her 'find your corner, mudblood. I'm going to take care of this."

Malfoy spun on Goyle and drew. "Obliviate." The large boy blinked. "Draco? Why'm'I here?"

Draco blew a disgusted breath through his teeth. "Honestly, Greg, did you get lost on the way to the kitchens again?"

"No, I uh…" Actually, a sandwich sounded really good. He turned and ambled off for the kitchens, to bully an elf into making him something to eat. Malfoy shook his head, wondering how much of his air he had been forced to cede to Goyle during their tenure as 'friends'. Too much, however much it was.

He entered the Room to find Granger, not in her corner, giving him a look that held much more sauce than humble obedience, a situation he would remedy fore with. He looked around the Room and saw his house reforming itself from thin air. Excellent.

" Yes?"

"You can't possibly mean to--" Malfoy was watching her, eyes dancing with malicious pleasure. She forced herself to stop and try to find a way to outsmart him. " I really can't stay."

"No? And why would that be?"

"Because the boys are waiting for me in the Tower. If I don't come they'll look for me."

Not bad, Draco had to admit. Not as clever as something he would come up with, naturally, but not bad. He pretended to consider this for a moment.

" That's strange. I could have sworn I saw them headed for the kitchens. Weasely was making some inane remark about wanting some of the chicken from supper. What do you make of that?"

She flushed, starting with her cheeks and moving rapidly down her neck and into her hairline. Draco smirked; caught out by her own reaction, like a first year. If he'd caught a Slytherin firstie acting this way, the little blighter'd have had a hundred lines and a good tongue lashing to encourage them to develop a little guile.

"We planned to meet in a half an hour."

He shook his head. "Weak. Even more pitiful than your usual, which says something. The study, mud blood. I shall be there shortly." The ultimate threat, when he was young. He would have started crying at once, had it been him. Instead, she simply looked annoyed. He would give her something to sulk about, if that was how she was going to be.

The house showed her the way easily enough. She wondered whether he wanted her in a corner or sitting in one of the shining leather chair. 'It is Malfoy' her mind pointed out drily, and with that in mind she went for the corner, draping her robes over a chair.

He made her wait as long as his patience held out, which luckily wasn't long. He savored the way she jumped when he opened the door. He stopped to hand up his robes and simply enjoyed the mudblood standing in the corner, awaiting his displeasure. Lucius always made him stand there a while longer, simply anticipating his doom. Draco sat at the massive citrus wood desk, opened a random door and began to shuffle some papers. To his surprise, it was his herbology notes. He spent a very pleasant twenty minutes reviewing the uses of asphodel. Every so often he would give the mudblood a look, grinning as she huffed and squirmed. Once, when she started to turn around he told her sharply to face the wall and stop scratching at her arm that way.

Finally he decided he was done playing with his food. One can rustle parchment and bark orders only so many times before it's really very tiresome. He pushed the chair back and called her to his side.

He studied her attire a moment. Pureblood women never publicly wore trousers, and he was disgusted and pleased by the way they clung to her body. He could clearly see her arse, and the curve of a calf if he squinted a bit.

Hermione looked at a point on the wall, determined not to give him the pleasure of a reaction. She realized the jeans were a stroke of terrible luck. He reached out and guided her over his lap.

" I'm very disappointed to have to do this again so soon, Hermione. I really thought the last time would have taught you a lesson but you simply have to keep testing my authority. You've no one to blame for our current state but yourself. Is there something you'd like to say to me?"

She paused. What in the world did he SMACK! "Oww! I'm sorry?" Her voice came out sounding much younger and smaller than she might have liked, almost childish. Heat rose in her cheeks and she felt a flash of gratitude he couldn't see her face. Odd, she would never have guessed a time when come when she was grateful for being over Malfoy's knee.

"I'm sure you are. That doesn't change the fact you were willfully disobedient. So I expect to hear penitence, understood?" He punctuated it with a swat to her thigh. She squirmed and nodded.

Draco had given this quite a lot of thought over the holiday, and decided a change in technique might do them both some good. He'd absolutely hated this as a child; he devoutly hoped Granger found it just as horrid. He gave her a slap, sharp but not too sharp. The trousers muffled the impact, imparting a slight sting that, on its own, wouldn't be a problem. It was the others that would be the problem.

Hermione figured it out at once. She forced herself to lie still as Malfoy peppered her bum, tutting and shaking his head. "How old are you?" She shook her head, surprised. "Sixteen."

" Sixteen years old, and still needs to be turned over my knee. Aren't you ashamed to be in this position again?"

She knew what was expected. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Of course you are. Now, I think these trousers need to come down. No, lie still; I can't trust you to be a good girl and help me."

Draco hadn't anticipated having to fight the trousers; it was quite stimulating, the way they clung and stuck. Granger whined as he tugged them down, which made it even better. He drew them to her knees and, after a second, stood her up again. Her confusion was palpable. Grasping her waist firmly, he slapped at her thigh until she lifted her feet, one at a time, out of her trousers.

She looked as though she wanted to fall into the floor. He found it incredibly arousing, the heady power. He alone saw Granger this way—he was the only person ever to evoke exactly these reactions from her. The first threads of desire started to pound in his veins—and if the end was inevitably rather a let down, getting there was worth it.

Hermione clenched her jaw. The sheer embarrassment of being undressed, even partially, in this degrading fashion was unspeakable. She tried to concentrate on a point above the molding, refuse to give him the satisfaction of her discomfort, but a sniffle escaped, followed by a few tears. Something soft was being thrust into her hand. A handkerchief, and Malfoy's voice. "Dry your eyes, Hermione. That's the girl."

How she hated him in that moment! She made herself give the handkerchief back nicely. His face was smooth and seemingly empathetic. " Now, now, mustn't cry. You'll need those tears later, won't you? If you're good, perhaps I'll even let you keep your knickers up." He patted his lap.

She bent over, stomach sliding greasily, and winced as he wrapped the arm snuggly about her waist. He spent a few minutes surveying his work, filled with satisfaction to be in this position again. It rather irked him that Granger had managed to forget every lesson he'd ever taught her—then again, she was a mudblood. Likely she would require more frequent correction than a Pureblood, or even a Halfblood.

"I am hurt, hurt, that you would lie to me. Have you anything to say in your own defense?"

She forced down the part of her that wanted to tell him what she did wrong was trust a sneaky little bastard like himself and said as respectfully as she could " I never lied to you. They really are expecting me."

" Emminently?"

"No, sir."

He cracked a hand down. "Then you lied by omission and tried to weasel your way out of it, didn't you?" Hermione had to suppress a very unladylike snort of laughter at the irony of what he'd said. Ferret calling the weasel out, wasn't it?

"Something funny?"

She frantically shook her head. "N-no, nothing." He huffed, deeply annoyed she wasn't fulfilling her part in all this. He'd teach her a thing or two. He cracked his hand down again, even harder. "I'll show you what's funny."

A few minutes later nothing was funny at all. Draco rested his stinging hand on the mudblood's back, felt her trembling muscles. She was lighter than she had been, he noted. " Are you beginning to regret having lied?"

Hermione sniffled. "Yes. I'm sorry."

He patted her back, relishing the way she tensed and jerked a little. He let his fingers trail to her waistband, rest a moment, carefully begin to work the panties down. Hermione could take no more; she reached back and tried to bat his hands away.

SMACK! "What do you think you're doing?" The sheer audacity! He had a mind to…well, do something unpleasant, at any rate. What bothered him most in these moments was the fact that Granger was perpetually uncowed by him. Was she really this stupid? Some fiendishly clever plot? Gryffindor idiocy in its fullest form?

"You said I could keep them up." Hermione was determined to level the playing field at least a little. If she couldn't prevent this, if she had to submit, she would do it on her own terms, dammit. She tried to twist around to look up at him, only to find herself swiftly pinned.

Malfoy gave a long suffering sigh, as though she'd asked him to help her with some onerous task that might take weeks or years. " Let me explain this to you again: I am in control here You will submit to me. Or else." She found herself being roughly set on her feet, hands flying up to shield herself. Malfoy spun her around and pointed to the desk. "Bend over. I'll convince you one way or another."

She bent, hideously aware of exactly how she must look. Malfoy stuck her to the desk and then stepped into the hall, walked a ways and then turned left. He was in the kitchens, as he knew he would be. A cold goblet of pumpkin juice sat on the counter and he drained it, prudently deciding to calm down a bit before he dealt with the mudblood.

Hermione's world was reduced to the blonde wood under her face. She hated being exposed like this—hated it!—and tears were dripping down her cheeks again. She felt vulnerable and stupid and naked, even though he hadn't pulled her knickers down. Yet. She heard him leave and reenter, putter around beside her. He opened a drawer and seemed to withdraw something. Her skin prickled as his breath tickled warmly at her ear. "This seemed to get your attention last time. I think ten a good start, don't you?"

Draco withdrew a small pot of ointment from the same drawer, though Granger couldn't see it. He smoothed it all over, as he had before. He had calmed down just enough that he was sure he wouldn't violate the Oath; enough that it seemed like a delicious anticipation, this waiting. He absently stroked his erection just a little bit, safe in the knowledge that she couldn't see him.

He positioned himself, drew back his arm. He could have warned her, could've let her brace herself against the shock of the blow. He would be damned if she would defy him like that again, and he intended on giving her a lesson she wouldn't soon forget. He had learned a lot in the weeks since this whole strange journey began, and by now he had a good sense of exactly what to do to get her attention.

"Count them." He brought the ruler back and then tapped her, feeling fiercely amused when she jumped. All het up, was she? Good.

Thwap! "One!"

Thwap! "Two! Oww!"

After the switch, this didn't seem bad at all. Hermione concentrated on counting. She should have known better than to interfere with Malfoy's twisted little desires. Cursing her stupidity, she determined to take this with as much dignity as possible.

Draco had anticipated that, too. He laid down five, not very hard, and then set the ruler down. He grabbed her knickers and pushed them down, studying what he had made. The salve prevented true stripes, of course, but he was gratified to see wide marks of a darker pink. He ghosted a finger over one and pretended not to notice she moved into his hand very slightly. She had soft skin, this mudblood. Soft, very hot, beautifully colored. His erection was verging on the painful, but he opted to push forward a bit further.

"I expect you're paying attention, aren't you?" Granger nodded, loathsome brushy hair a corona. Couldn't she ever do something with it? Other girls pinned it up or braided it with ribbon. Within a minute he was holding a stretchy thing in his hand. Not a ribbon, but he would able to study her reactions, at least.

"Can you braid hair?"

"What?" That was literally the last thing she'd expected to hear him say. He repeated it, clearly losing patience, and Hermione nodded. Not well, but she could.

" Do it, then. I hate how your hair is always in the damned way." He unstuck her and watched as she made a clumsy braid and tied the end with the band. He wrinkled his nose—she looked just as bad, but at least he could watch her now.

"Back over." He re-stuck her. Perfect. Picking up the ruler, he tapped her again. "Harder, this time. Make sure you're feeling it." He took up the ruler again and tapped her again.

THWAP! "OWW!" She would have stood upright if she could have. She realized suddenly why he'd gone easy on her that first time—he'd been cozening her.

THWAP! He was really laying in! She tried to twist a little to her left, to offer the less tender side, but she was stuck too thoroughly.

THWAP! Her legs were kicking involuntarily, not as hard as when he'd switched her, but still out of her control.

THWAP! She cried, not sobbing yet but crying steadily. He was laying every stripe right on top of the ones he'd put down before. They hadn't been hard stripes but she'd been whacked right beforehand—she was plenty tender, and Malfoy was hitting at least as hard as he had with the switch. Still, all things considered, she'd take this over the switch any day.

THWAP! She bucked as much as she could, which wasn't much at all. Malfoy stopped, not breathing hard but pleasantly flushed with exertion. His reaction, which had subsided slightly in the pause between sets, was back full force. Yes, life was grand.

" I'll be right back. You will wait for me, won't you?"

He slid the ruler directly into her line of sight and left as quickly as he could. Hermione forced herself to breathe deeply, not easy when one is bent at that angle. By now she had a good idea what kept driving him from the room. Even as revolted as she was, at some level she was curious as well. 'Of course' she thought wryly ' that's what got me into this mess.'

Malfoy appeared a few minutes later, looking much relieved. He crossed in front of her and rummaged on the shelf. Pulling out a heavy text, he flipped a few pages, sat down and began to read aloud.

"Here it would be proper to observe, for the sake of such as may apprehend the morals of the youth, from the more freely written letters…" He continued on in this vein for some time.

Finally she could bear no more. "M-Malfoy?"

He tucked a finger into the book. "It's rude to interrupt, Hermione. And what have I told you about using my name?" He picked up where he'd left off, as though she hadn't spoken. She waited until he hit a paragraph break and said as politely as she could "Sir?"

"Much better. Is there something you'd like to ask?"

"What are you doing?"

Malfoy sighed. "Reading. I'm reading."

"Yes, I know. I mean, why?"

Malfoy put the book down. " I thought some time in that position might encourage you to reflect. Has it?"

She bit her cheek. 'Yes, sir."

"Excellent. We're finished for tonight, mudblood." He opened the book and commenced to read again.

"Wait! Can't I get up?"

"I suppose you'll whinge if I leave you there." He unstuck her and put down the book.

"The boys are suspicious."

Malfoy nodded. " I would be, if I were them." He motioned for her to dress herself and she did, murmuring gratitude to whomever would hear it. She put on her robes and prepared to leave.

" Oh, and Granger?"

"Yes, Malfoy?"

"I've decided a change is in order. Be prepared." He waved her away, making it clear he meant to stay on. She crept back to the Tower, wondering what he might have in mind.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Love to my beta Visitkarte for her help.**

**Today is my birthday, so I thought a good spanking was in order :)**

**Many thanks to my dear readers. Please R&R.**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was almost three weeks before they met again. Malfoy sensed something had changed, or would soon change. Umbridge was pushing ever harder. The Slytherins had a pool going as to when Snape would simply hex her and be done with it. When things finally converged in such a way that they could meet, he owled her a letter, unsigned and unheaded, simply a day and time. Her eyes caught his across the hall and his hand moved, almost unconsciously, down for a moment. No one noticed.

The break was a lucky thing for Hermione. She spent time with the boys, helped with DA, pushed herself harder in her studies. Her Nan was definitely worse, according to her Dad's letters. Certain things seemed less important now—meals got skipped, assignments got pushed to the back burner. All she could do was work and wait; sometimes when she was alone, she cried into her pillow.

She showed up for the meeting at right on time. Malfoy met her, not smiling. She felt her stomach drop painfully, swallowed hard. He studied her a long moment.

"Are they still suspicious, Granger?"

"What? Oh, yes, a little. I've been studying a fair amount, you see, especially for--"

Draco held up a hand. "It's a yes or no question."

"Yes."

" How good an actress are you?"

She had no time to react because he clamped his wrist down on her arm and began dragging her toward the stairs. "Malfoy, what--"

"Fight me, you fool! Fight me!" He picked up the pace and jerked harder. She surrendered to her impulses and began to struggle, trying to wrench herself free. He ignored her and anyone else they came across and finally pulled up outside Umbridge's office.

"Malfoy! What--"

He shot her a glare and knocked confidently at the door. "I got one, Professor."

To Hermione's muggle born eyes, the room looked like it had been decorated by care bears. Drunk, angry care bears that hated the world, because no sane being could have created a space as endlessly, offensively cute as this. Malfoy shoved her roughly into the closest chair, and she found herself looking right into Delores Umbridge's toad like face.

"Well, Miss Granger –hem hem- it would seem Mr. Malfoy caught you snooping around. Is that what happened?"

"No, Professor. I was on my way to the library. I left a book there."

Umbridge smiled. "I'd like to believe you, dear. But I have—hem hem-- reason to believe that you are colluding in Mr. Potter's attempts to undermine the Ministry. What do you think of that?"

Hermione tried to project wounded innocence. "Professor, I would never do anything to undermine the Ministry (if it weren't run by corrupt vultures). Nor would Harry ( without Dumbledore's consent). I'm hurt (and elated) you think so poorly of us (you malignant little troll)."

Draco watched the whole thing, face blank. He was a tiny, tiny bit proud that the mudblood was holding up this well. He'd half expected her to crack and start bawling or something equally stupid.

"Then I suppose you can tell me all about this little club of Mr. Potter's? Since it's—hem hem—nothing forbidden."

Hermione froze for a split second. Umbridge didn't notice but Malfoy did, and filed it away in his mind for future reference.

"Club? There is no club."

Umbridge laughed, a brittle sound in the sickeningly cute office. "Of course there's a club. There has been for months, and I want the names of the members."

Granger sat straighter and shook her head. "There are no names because there is no club."

Umbridge leant over the desk and pressed herself far, far too close to Hermione. Hermione could smell the nauseating tea rose perfume the woman had bathed in, the scented stuff in her hair. " You will give me the names."

"There. Are. No. Names."

Draco cleared his throat. " Professor, I have an idea. If you wouldn't mind asking Granger to step out in the hall…" Umbridge agreed with a sickening simper.

As soon as they were alone, Draco gave Umbridge his most charming smile.

" I think I can help."

Umbridge gestured for him to continue. "It might take some time, but I think I can convince her it's in her best interests to tell us. I might even be able to get Father to come and talk to her." Umbridge simpered harder; she had a disgustingly obvious crush on Lucius.

It took some doing, and a goodly dose of the Malfoy charm, but she finally agreed. Hermione was called back in. Umbridge sat in her chair, hands in her lap. Draco shot his pet mud blood an unreadable look . "It has come to my attention, Miss Granger, that your marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts have been somewhat lacking in recent weeks. Mr. Malfoy has generously agreed to give up his free time in tutoring you. Isn't that kind?"

Hermione didn't have to fake the look of horror on her face. The ferret looked pleased with himself, downright smug. She swallowed hard and said bravely "I don't think that's--"

"Nonsense,dear. I insist. Unless you'd prefer I call Mr. Potter myself…"

"No thank you, Professor. I'm sure Malfoy and I can hammer something out."

Umbridge trilled. "Excellent! I shall expect an improvement in both marks and attitude. If that's all, Mr. Malfoy…"

They walked in silence to the Room. Malfoy was humming to himself. He gently guided her inside and then closed and warded the door.

"What did you do?"

He laughed. "Solved your problem. Now you have an excuse to spend time away from the Tower, don't you?"

She was too outraged to say anything. He sat in the closest chair and studied her. "I suppose a bit of gratitude is too much to expect."

Draco was outraged when she laughed. "You force me into this, you make me lie to my friends to protect you, and now you want my gratitude? Sod off."

Malfoy clicked his tongue. " Forgotten our manners, have we? I can fix that."

He pointed his wand at her and murmured something under his breath. At once her mouth filled with a foul taste and a greasy, burning coat of something. "Soap. Three minutes ought to do. Find your corner, Granger, and think about what you did."

By the end of three minutes there were tears running down her cheeks. Her mouth was on fire, her sinuses burning, and she could hear the Room shifting and changing. Malfoy was humming again, quite loudly.

"You may come out now."

The house had altered. For one thing, it seemed to have two stories. The door was a cheery red, and he led her up the little stairs that has appeared. The corridor was light and airy, with doors on either side. He led her through until they came to a WC.

Malfoy pointed to the sink. "Rinse, Granger." Hermione gratefully grabbed the glass of cold water that appeared and swished it around, desperate to be rid of the foul taste. She spat it into the sink and repeated the procedure, ignoring Malfoy's snort of derision.

"I expect you'll remember next time?"

"Yes, sir."

He turned and led her back into the house. They entered a room that was clearly a library. Hermione sighed with pleasure—it looked much like the library at her house in Darlington. Malfoy frowned at the shelves and brought forth a book.

"I do so love the Room, don't you?" He showed her the spine of the book, smirking. 'Social History of North America from 1630 onwards." She blinked.

His smirk widened. " Can't have Mother finding these things, could we? I'm not even sure Father knows I know what it is." He opened the book, flipped at random, frowning slightly. "Hmmm, so many good ideas, and now so much time. Tell me, just how bad have your marks been?"

Hermione was irritated to feel her face flushing. "Not that bad, really. She exaggerated quite a bit."

Draco nodded. "Let's just check that, shall we?"

He thought and a second later a very familiar brown leather rucksack popped into view. She stiffened with outrage as he plopped it on the table and began rooting through. "You can't just--"

"I certainly can." He opened her notes and began rifling through them, casually dropping anything he didn't need on the floor. "Ah-ha! A P, Granger? You actually got a P?"

She said nothing. He quickly read the paper, shaking his head. "Appalling. She graded this generously, all things considered. I would have given it an A at best." He tutted in that annoying way he had. "We'll be discussing this after supper, my girl."

"Supper?"

"You weren't in the Great Hall. I presume you'd like something to eat?"

"That would be very nice, actually." She was surprised he'd noticed, but not in a bad way. It was actually a tiny bit flattering. Not that he wasn't still a repulsive git, mind, but it's nice to be noticed.

He pointed her to the back of the house. " Go on. Stalling won't do you any good."

They found a room quite as cute as the rest of the house. It was a cheery red and white room with starched curtains and a white table and chair set. The table was set with a meal for two, meat and vegetables and bread. They sat down and tucked in.

"Malfoy?"

"I'm sorry, did you say something, Hermione?"

She gritted her teeth. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"What is this place?"

Draco swallowed. "I got the idea from the book. I think this is what most American houses look like. "

She digested this. "A sort of theme, then?"

He grinned. "You could say that. Clean plate, now. You haven't finished your peas."

"I don't care for peas."

He smirked. "Eat your peas."

She quashed her urge to tell him off and ate the vile little things, picturing him drowning in a vat of mushy peas. For his part, Draco was smiling. This kind of power was indescribable. He had complete control, power limited only by the scope of his desire and that slight prohibition against doing her real harm ( why would he want to anyway? A broken toy would be no fun). He felt deepest satisfaction, watching as she choked the peas down .

The plates vanished, leaving the table bare. Malfoy sighed loudly and pushed his chair away from the table. "Wait for me in the other room, Hermione."

She was beyond the urge to resist. She put her napkin beside her plate and went into the room with all the books, which she assumed was the room he meant. He followed behind and sat on a spacious, comfortable looking couch and called her before him.

" I was very disappointed I had to speak with Umbridge about you today. She thinks you aren't trying. And I have to say, I tend to agree. A 'P' isn't at all like you. Not to mention, your attitude's been just atrocious lately. We've talked about that before, haven't we?"

"Malfoy."

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"Aren't you taking this a little far?"

" Limits, Granger, are things imposed on superior people by those with no sense of vision. Like yourself. 'Too far' is a very relative concept. Why should I waste time philosophizing when I can humiliate you?"

She clenched her jaw. "I hope you get what's coming you someday."

He laughed. "So do I, mudblood, so do I. Now, if we could move on…"

She nodded. Draco let her stand there a moment, simply smiling at her. He was pleased that he could predict her reactions and then plan ahead. Slytherin cunning, he reflected smugly, overcomes Gryffindor sincerity every time. Like taking sweets from a baby, wasn't it?

"You've been quite naughty, haven't you? Skiving your schoolwork, being rude to professors, refusing to eat your food…my goodness. What happens when you're naughty?"

Hermione wondered whether the Oath bound her from hurting him. A really good kick might help get her point across… Malfoy shook her lightly by the arm. "I said, what happens when you're naughty?"

"You really are taking this too far, you know."

"Granger, any chance you might have had of getting out of this unscathed vanished when you went along with me this evening. I suggest you close your eyes and endure. Or better yet, fuss and complain and give me reason to punish you. Now, what happens when you're naughty?"

Hermione hadn't considered this. She was well and truly stuck, and in a way that made it seem less like a noble gesture and more like a saving of skin. She took a deep breath. If she was stuck in this with Malfoy then she would find dignity in his perversions. Maybe he would lose interest.

"You smack me, sir."

" That's right. I tuck up your skirt' he did ' and pull down your knickers' they fell to her knees in a determined whoosh of mint green cotton ' and bend you over my knee' she bent herself as quickly as she could to preserve her modesty ' and then wallop your arse until you cry, don't I? Until you're very, very sorry and you can't sit down for a long time. Well, my girl, you definitely deserve it this time, don't you?"

Draco pulled her a little tighter into his midriff. She inhaled and said in a monotone "Yes, sir."

"You don't mean that."

" No, sir."

"Someday I'll teach you the concept of deceit. In the meantime, perhaps you'd like to explain why you shouldn't get whacked?"

"Because that woman is a stupid cow and I don't understand why you care what my marks are like."

"She certainly is a stupid cow, and if you suddenly start getting poor marks, questions will be asked. People have seen us together, Granger. If someone is very smart, or very lucky, they might make the connection. Can't have that, can we?"

She could see his point. Still, she had a final point. "I did finish the peas."

"You had to be told. Surely you know better than that."

She put her head up. "Actually, my parents didn't make me eat things I didn't like."

Malfoy huffed. " For Merlin's sake, what do muggles do? Drop their children in a room for seventeen years and never look at them? 'My parents never smacked me, or made me stand in a corner, or made me eat.' It's sickening."

" Of course not! My family just doesn't happen to believe in those things, that's all."

He shifted her gently and felt the new hardness of her hipbones.

"You're much thinner. You've been skipping meals?"

"A few."

"Bollocks. You've lost a stone at least. You're up to something, Granger. What is it?"

"I'm not up to--"

"You are. I aim to find out just what it is."

" I haven't done anything wrong!"

Malfoy grinned. "We'll see about that, won't we?"

Hermione hated how she always forgot just how much that first smack stung. Malfoy was silent above her, communicating his displeasure with hard, even swats to her tender places. It had been a long time, too, which made it worse. Finally he broke the silence.

"Are you ready to admit you deserve this?"

She shook her head. "I d-don't."

He blew a breath between his teeth. "Keep pushing me. Go on, see what happens when you keep this up."

She bit her lip as he slapped harder. She held out the first time he whacked her thighs and sit spots, but the second she couldn't take it any more. "OWWW! OWWWW! STOP!"

" Finally getting somewhere, I see." He tightened his grip and slapped her backside another minute, pleased by the way she was kicking so prettily. Such a good little toy, always full of surprises.

"You were very naughty, weren't you?"

"Yes!"

"You deserve to be punished, don't you?"

"OWWW! Yes, I'm sorry!"

"You're very grateful I've taken the time to correct you, aren't you?"

"Yes!"

"Then what do you say?"

"T-Thank you!"

He stopped. Hermione gasped with relief and cautiously relaxed a little, knowing Malfoy had something really awful up his sleeve. Malfoy kept his arm about her waist and did nothing, only held her lightly in place.

"Malf-Sir?"

"Yes, Hermione?" He pulled her a little tighter, straightening her shirt a bit just for something to do.

"Can I get up now?"

"May."

"What?"

" 'May I', not can I. 'May I get up?' "

"May I?"

"No."

Draco lifted his wand and summoned a book from the shelves. " I'm not sure I trust you to behave yourself if I let you up. You can think just as well in this position as you can in the corner."

Objectively, she ought to have been past shame. There was nothing inherently more shameful in her current position than in at least being allowed to stand, but as the minutes ticked slowly by, she found it harder to concentrate than usual. Part of it was Malfoy's erection, which was poking her thigh quite unashamedly. Part of it was sheer discomfort, which was unavoidable. Most of it, she suspected, was mental, and knowing that didn't alleviate her upset a single bit.

"Please may I get up? Please?"

Malfoy shifted and said absently. "Mmm, no, you're staying there. And don't whinge, it's unbecoming."

Hermione's stomach felt as though it were filled with snakelets. She squirmed, and he locked his legs over hers and gave her a pat on an unsmacked part of her thigh. "Stop that this second." Still that absent minded tone, the irritating sense he was only half paying attention.

"Can't you at least put my skirt down?"

"For someone who's being punished, you seem eager to make me annoyed with you."

"Malfoy, please! I hate this, I really do!"

He gave a soft murmur and ran a hand down her back in a parody of comforting affection. "Of course you do. Lying there so helpless…can't move at all, can you? All you can do is lay there and beg, and cry, and get punished when I decide you need it."

She gave a little sob of frustration. It was horrible because it was true. She wanted to fight him, to kick and rage and curse, but her limbs weighed a thousand stone apiece. Malfoy was moving her very gently and she started to get up, but he held her down .

"You lie here and have a rest while I go eat pudding, and then we'll finish your punishment." She was stuck face down on the sofa, unable to move her torso. "P-please don't leave me like this. Please, I'm sorry, please don't leave me like this!"

His voice sounded far away. "Of course not." With that, he promptly slid her knickers to her ankles and left. The room was very quiet; the only sound was the ticking clock in the corner, the retreating clack of Malfoy's loafers on the hardwood floors and her own strained and ragged breathing.

Malfoy ate both cups of pudding. She was, after all, being punished, and she certainly didn't deserve chocolate mousse. He ate it slowly, savoring the position he found himself in. Life was wonderful. He hoped she didn't get herself worked up; it would be most inconvenient if he had to waste time calming her. Hysterical women were, to put it very lightly, not fun at all.

He put his time alone to good use, wishing for more of that salve that prevented bruises. After it appeared he let her stew three quarters of an hour before returning to the sitting room. His little plaything had taken his advice and drifted off, sniffling in her sleep like a child. He took the scene in, less than moved, and then shook her shoulder.

"Have a nice rest?"

Hermione woke from her shallow doze to find Malfoy bent over her, hand on shoulder. She blinked, trying to clear her mind. Malfoy shook her again. "Stop it, I'm awake."

"My word, aren't we the grumpy one? Someone needs their attitude adjusted for them, I think."

He unstuck her and helped her stand, held her arm while she kicked her knickers off. " Find something suitable for me to use on you and bring it here."

She stood a moment, testing her legs, and then walked back to the kitchen. She wanted to extend the moment and she didn't; wanted to flee and to stay; to hate him and to obey him. Pushing the feelings down, a round canister caught her eye. It was the kind her Mum kept spoons and utensils in. Malfoy's voice rang out.

"If you aren't back by the time I get to ten, you'll be sorry."

She grabbed the first thing that came to hand and walked back, determined not to give him a chance to add to her punishment …or leave her stuck again.

He gestured her over at once. "Let me see what you've got. Ahh, excellent choice. I was hoping you would pick this one." She had chosen a wooden spoon, sturdy and deep, carved of some caramel colored wood. He gestured her into position, pleased by her compliance. He salved her, careful to mind where his hands were. Then he locked her into place and took up his spoon.

"What do you say we play a little game? Does that sound fun?"

Hermione was wary. He went on brightly, as though she'd agreed with him.

"I'm going to ask you questions and you'll answer them. For every wrong answer, you get whacked with the spoon."

"And for right answers?"

"We'll see. Just so you know what it feels like' he raised the spoon '**THWACK THWACK THWACK**!'

"**OWW**! "

"About this little club of Potter's--"

"There is no club." She wouldn't tell, no matter what happened. She couldn't. She'd spelled that parchment herself; she knew what would happen to her if she let it slip.

"Wrong answer." **THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK**!

"**OWWW**!"

"The club, Hermione."

"There isn't one."

**THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK**!

"**PLEEEAAASEE**!"

"Hurts, doesn't it? Tell me the truth now: What is he up to?"

"N-n-nothing."

**THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK**!

"**AIEEOOWW! PLEASE STOP**!"

"You want it to stop? Tell me what I want to hear."

"Can't! No club!"

He chuckled softly. "Of course there is. Even Umbridge noticed, and she's not what you'd call observant. What is he up to?"

" Nothing!"

Draco paused. " Then I suppose you were in the library that night for fun? Your common room ran out of space, perhaps?"

"It's too l-loud to study there. I wanted to get ahead on Potions, that's all." She didn't mind that her voice was shuddery and hoarse with tears, for once. It added pathos and, hopefully, made her sound more sincere.

He snorted. " Oh, spare me. It all ties in somehow, and I want to find out how. If you tell me I'll go easy on you."

" Please, there's nothing to tell."

**THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK**!

"**OWW OWW OWWW**!"

" We have the Transfiguration test tomorrow. Unit six, whelks to weasels or something, isn't it?"

"Yes. What…"

He clicked his tongue. "McGonagall's tests always take a full period. That's fifty minutes of sitting and another twenty of the practical. What do you think that will feel like?"

She cried harder but said nothing. Draco was irritated to realize his admiration was back. If it had been him, he would have sung like a bird. Of course, he would never have gotten himself in such a stupid mess to start with…

"If you're going to be stubborn about this, just tell me. I do have other things to do tonight, you know."

"I'm not being stubborn. I really don't know--"

"Please yourself." **THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK!**

**"OWWWW! OWWWWW! PLEASENOMOREOWWWWWWWW!PLEASE!"**

"I expect at least an 'E' on that test, by the way. And no unsightly fidgeting, either. I'll be watching to make sure you don't call attention to yourself."

She bawled, overcome and very, very tired. Malfoy shifted under her and then put the spoon down.

"Listen, Granger, I don't intend to tell Umbridge about whatever it is Potter's doing. I just want to know. I won't even tell Father."

" There's-nothing-to-tell."

" If I find out on my own, you're in for it."

"I'm in for it anyway."

Malfoy laughed. "Well, yes, but there's a difference. It's better to get hit by a pixie than a hippogriff."

"You'd know." She hoped she said it softly enough that he didn't overhear, but as always, her luck had stepped out for a cuppa. Malfoy picked up the spoon and gave each burning thigh three stiff whacks.

" Any more smart remarks?"

"**OW**! No sir."

Slightly mollified, Draco put the spoon down again. He regretted that he had to use the salve on his pet. Her bum and thighs were a delightful red, no doubt stinging madly. Not to mention the humiliation, which he felt he had done really well tonight. But it bothered him that he could not mark her. Wonderful though her reddened arse was to behold, he wished he could teach her a really thorough, lasting lesson about disrespect and being stupidly noble. And he just couldn't do that without putting some welts, or at least a few bruises, on her.

The funny thing was, even without the Oath he wouldn't have hurt her. Not really, not anymore. No scars, no broken skin. Just a reminder of exactly who was in charge. He had no love for her, no tender feelings as most people understand them, but he'd been quite serious when he mentioned speaking to the Dark Lord about her. His rationale was simple: his life was more fun with …this than without it, and no decent woman would consent to this, ergo the mudblood was a necessity.

Hermione gulped and got herself under control. He was making no move to leave or continue with her punishment. She tried to be as still as possible, simply going to ground and hoping he'd get bored or really have to do something else.

"See what happens to naughty, saucy little girls who don't pay attention in class? They get smacked and no pudding and a session with the spoon. You'll think twice next time, won't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"What do you say?"

"Thank you?'

"You're welcome, but besides that. Are you sorry?"

"Oh. Yes, very sorry. "

He reached for her knickers and carefully put back on her. " See it doesn't happen again, or else it's the hairbrush and no pudding for a week, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

He helped her stand. " I expect to see you in the Hall for meals as well. I don't fancy smacking a bony arse, thank you very much."

They went out together, and he walked her back. He seemed deep in thought, forehead slightly wrinkled. Nearly at the portrait, Draco turned to his mudblood. "Granger?"

"Yes, Malfoy?"

"Did you get no pudding a lot, then?"

Her parents had been dentists, and she'd never eaten many sweets at home. "Well, no, because--"

Draco stared at her. " Then how did they--' his mouth suddenly snapped shut ' never mind, Granger, I don't want to know."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Love to all reviewers.**

**The phrase 'prehensile mind' belongs to Thomas Harris; I'm only playing with his toys.**

**Draco acts like a serious bastard this chapter; I indulged him a bit. If some of the logic he uses seems flawed, take his age and motivations into account.**

**Please R&R**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Draco circled the mudblood, grinning. She looked uneasy yet not cowed; exactly as he liked. The test they had taken a few days earlier was in one hand; the other was holding her schoolbag. Her uniform skirt looked rumpled and ill kempt, as though she'd slept in it. Or not slept, to judge from the circles under her eyes and the way she kept blinking.

"Well, let's have it."

Hermione handed the parchment over and watched with ill concealed pleasure as Malfoy went from smug to surprised to confounded. "An 'O'?"

"I would have had a perfect score if I hadn't misspelled 'conscientiously'.

This rather put a damper on Draco's plans, which had hinged on his belief that the mudblood would do poorly. She looked exhausted and seemed listless at best. Surely, he'd thought, she wouldn't be able to get an 'E'. She actually outscored him, damn her filthy eyes.

An idea as malicious as it was clever sprung into his flexible, ever squirming mind. " Haven't we been a good girl? Just a perfect little angel?"

Hermione felt a frisson of alarm. She hated it when Malfoy thought. When he was acting, he was too intent on whatever he was doing to give the future more than a cursory glance. When he was thinking, his mind spewed forth increasingly bizarre and horrible offerings, like a buffet dinner in Hell.

"I asked you a question. Have you been good lately?"

"How do you mean?"

He smirked. "You know, obeyed the rules. No midnight jaunts? Eating meals? Placating that Umbridge cow?"

" No, I've been just fine. Tired, but fine."

He nodded understandingly. "Of course you have. Let me see your hands, Granger."

She thrust her hands out, palms up, and he laughed and shook his head. "You know better than that."

He carefully took her fingers in his hands and examined the tips. On her ring finger he found what he was looking for, a small scab gone mostly brown. He pulled her hand closer, closely examined it and then smiled.

"Did you forget to tell me something, Hermione?"

She flushed and tried to pull her hand away. " It's almost gone."

"What else have you 'forgotten', hmm?"

"Nothing."

"Pardon?"

"Nothing, sir."

She had ceased some time since in wondering what would happen if he grew tired of his sport—it had been months and Malfoy was endlessly inventive and, she had to admit, intuitive to a fault. He could always find some new way to hurt her, some novel claw to rake over her soft underbelly and make her bleed.

She wondered now what would happen if she had choice. What would she do if Malfoy gave her the option to walk away, to simply stop? 'Of course I would take it. Good riddance to bad rubbish.'

Even as that logical, firm and strident part of her brain assured her that she'd do the right thing, another part of her made itself felt. It said nothing, but seemed to suggest, with sly looks and slight nudges, that perhaps the lady protested a bit too much. This part presented no well reasoned arguments as to why she absolutely, positively would not choose to stay; it pointed mutely at the vast relief she had felt on the night she'd cried about Mr. Weasley, the night when all had been stripped away by the switch. He'd effortlessly pulled down her walls and replaced them with pain that knocked conscious thought away. He was good at pain, Malfoy.

Hermione hated the way he playacted. The first few times he'd been matter of fact, malicious and open about his utter lack of concern for her needs or desires. He still was, of course, only now he pretended a solicitousness that disturbed and disgusted her.

"I hate it when you force my hand, Hermione."

"I forced your hand? I—Forced—Your—Hand. You --"

Malfoy held up a hand, which looked not at all forced. "Yes, yes, I know. I'm evil and you are all sweetness and light. Do try not to be so damned tedious, won't you?"

"How d--"

"I make rules for your own good, you know."

"My own good? How can you possibly claim any of this is for my own good?"

"Because this allows you a degree of control, don't you think? If there are rules, then you can try actually obeying for a change and perhaps lessen your punishment."

"Why would you want to lessen my punishments? You like it."

He squinted thoughtfully. "Well, yes. But it would get boring for me. This is more of a challenge, trying to find what works and what doesn't. Not to mention' he smirked at her ' There's more than one way to assert control. The whole thing can be rather …stimulating, from the right perspective."

" You're sick."

"Not at all. Or rather, if I am, then you are too. Anyway' he spoke before she could protest ' you've been warned. I think I'll go easy on you tonight, since it's our first _study session_."

He gestured her inside.

"Library. Go on, stop dallying."

She went quietly, rubbing at her eyes. She's had little sleep in the past few days, and what she'd had was mediocre at best. She rapidly flicked away a little moisture that has gathered in her eyes and went to her tormentor, head held high.

He'd loosened his tie and rolled his sleeves up, looking relaxed and pleased with himself. Malfoy's precious book of perversions sat on the end table, along with a glass of cold water. He took a sip and then smiled at his pet.

"Let's see, I---are you crying?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm fine."

"You're not either, you're crying. Sit down and stop it at once."

Hermione huffed. "I'm not crying, I just had something in my eye and it was five minutes ago."

He pulled out his handkerchief and dipped the cloth in the water. Cupping her chin with one hand, he used the other the rake the cold, soaking wet cloth over her face, leaving trails of moisture.

"Shush. I'll give you something that's really worth crying over, I promise."

Hermione went rigid. " Stop touching me."

"I'll touch you if I want to."

"Not like that, you won't."

"Want to wager on it, Gr---Hermione?' He leaned over and slowly ran his finger down her cheek. She pulled back, upsetting the water and soaking the tome of horrors that Malfoy enjoyed so much.

She barely had time to feel the coldness on her back when Draco pulled her away and put her on her feet. He locked a hand about her wrist and, to her shocked embarrassment, spun her around to swat her bottom as he talked.

"Now you've done it (Swat!). The attitude is going to stop, little miss (Swat!). I am sick and tired ( Swat!) of the defiance and lack of cooperation (Swat!), not to mention (Swat!) the continual back chat and general disobedience. I want you to go upstairs (Swat!) and wait for me ( Swat!) , because we're going to have ( Swat!) a good long talk about this ( Swat!)."

Hermione blinked.

"First door on the left. I expect you know where to wait?"

It was a bedroom. Hermione's stomach slid greasily. Did this mean he would—did he want to—what if he--- her hand came up and she nibbled worriedly at a cuticle until she realized that letting Malfoy catch her at that was an awful idea. She found a corner and waited for the footsteps on the stairs.

For his part, Draco was annoyed. He felt like he was teaching the mudblood the same lessons over and over, which, at least proved the Dark Lord right. Mudbloods were morally bankrupt; one only had to look at the way Granger had been brought up to see.

Not that he minded an excuse to punish and degrade his pet. On the contrary, he preferred that she misbehave so he wouldn't feel bad about what he was doing. His twisted, prehensile mind had conjured an elaborate justification for his actions and the strange non-relationship between them.

She was smart, for one thing—he was confident that, with appropriate inducement, Granger could be taught to use her intelligence to benefit the Cause. What that inducement might be he was not exactly sure, but no Malfoy would ever be accused of lacking self confidence.

After all, this experiment proved that mudbloods could be trained, didn't it? The fact that he inevitably ended up highly aroused was coincidence, obviously—his plan hinged on being able to show a well-trained, obedient pet, and to that end, there would be rules and consequences and, very often, smackings to be meted out.

Tragic, that, he thought with a smile, and unconsciously brushed his swelling erection with his hand.

The door opened. Draco's pet jumped, probably caught at something, which he graciously ignored for the nonce. The room was perfect, exactly right. He sat down on the bed and called his toy over, eager to begin. His hand found the fastening on her kilt and began to fumble with it.

He finally unhooked the damn thing and it slid with a thick, unappealing thump to puddle on the hardwood. He drew his wand and flicked; the kilt folded itself and then flew to a chair, where it sat waiting for it's owner to need it once more.

Hermione concentrated on the design of the comforter. She felt absolutely exposed and vulnerable, a fact of which Malfoy was no doubt aware. She wanted very much to protest this idea that she was a willing partner in this---this thing--- but self-preservation had won out over honor in this issue. Perhaps she was learning something from him after all.

His grasped her waist and guided her over his knee, in such a way that her upper body was resting on the bed. He locked his other leg over hers and held her wrists with his hand, carefully pushing an arm into the small of her back to keep her from moving.

"I won't tolerate carelessness, Hermione. You're old enough now that you should know the right way to behave. You've been all but asking for a smacking since you came in. And I intend on delivering one you won't soon forget. You'll be a very sore, sorry little girl by the time I'm through."

"To start with: Who's in control here?"

"You are. Sir."

"Well done. And will you ever, ever try to resist me again? Or be careless of other people's property?"

She said nothing, judging the consequences of a lie against the consequences of suicidal honesty. Malfoy snickered. "Tell me what I want to hear."

"No, sir."

"Don't like to be touched?"

"No, sir."

He reached up and slowly brushed the nape of her neck with his fingertips, enjoying the shiver she made. He raked them down, almost to her waist, clinically detached as she shifted, whimpering. He reached down and tugged gently at the waistband of her knickers, but didn't take them down. "After tonight, you'll appreciate the virtues of skin on skin, I think."

" What happens to bad little girls who act careless?"

"They get smacked."

He raised a hand and brought it down with a sharp smack. His toy jumped. "Oww!"

"What do you say to me?"

"I'm sorry! Owww, owww!"

He grinned. "Not as sorry as you're going to be."

SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT "OWWWWW! OWWWWOOOWWWW!" SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

"AIEEOWWWW!" SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT "OWWW!"SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

Malfoy was panting by the end. Stilling his hand, he found himself wishing Granger would show a little more appreciation for his effort, instead of wiggling hither and yon, making him expend twice as much effort than if she could only take it with better grace.

"Really, Hermione, I would have thought a big girl like you could take your punishment without such a fuss." He tsk'd a few times for effect. She said nothing, too concentrated on the pain in her backside.

"All right, that's enough. I didn't kill you, my girl. Though I imagine you'd rather be anywhere else, wouldn't you?"

"Y-yes!"

"Hmmph, there's gratitude for you. Care to try again?"

Hermione sobbed, overwhelmed with frustration. She had learned to submit to pain, to humiliation, to being punished and scolded like a child whenever the Ferret was in the mood, but she wasn't sure she could stand to give up that last little piece of herself that was above this. Somehow to violate that was almost worse than the deception with Umbridge.

"I'm waiting."

"I'd rather be—be here, sir."

"Well done, Hermione. Let's see just how good a girl you can be, shall we?" He released her legs and helped her stand, smirking when her hands flew back to rub the burning sting from her bottom. She was glad he'd left her knickers alone for a change.

Draco indulgently let his toy rub for a few moments. He was very hard, and the show she was putting on was quite the icing on the cake. He finally reached out and stilled her with a hand on the arm. "Enough, for Merlin's sake. Go to the wardrobe and fetch a slipper for me."

Hermione was half way across the room before she realized that she was literally getting a rod for her own back. She half stopped, her rational mind screaming at her to resist, until that mute and compelling part of her spoke for the first time. 'Shut up' it said simply 'you're not helping.'

She opened the wardrobe and saw a pair of leather bedroom slippers sitting on a pile of folded blankets. She grabbed one and carried it gingerly to Malfoy, surprised, in a clinical way, by how calm she felt. While he'd been whacking her ( very hard, tonight), she'd yelled and fought and cried like a child, but she felt no shame. Instead, her mind was a great blessed blank, with only the thought of getting through the next moment, the next breath, the next blow. The world was reduced to the crack of his hand on her hot skin and a white nothingness as engulfing as sleep.

"Very good. Get back in position."

Draco contemplated his toy. She was stretched on her belly across his knee, waiting for her just punishment at his hands. The sight of her backside, blushing a dark pink through the thin, wash worn cotton was almost more than he could bear. He took his hand and lightly felt her, knowing he was very close to the edge and suddenly not caring. He felt good, so good…

"Are you beginning to regret your naughtiness yet?"

"Y-yes, sir."

He felt her a little more forcefully. She gasped. " See what happens when you act out? You end up crying over my lap while I wallop you too sore to sit down."

Fresh tears started and Hermione sniffled. Malfoy reached up and traced the track with his finger. "You were very bad, weren't you?

"Yes, very."

He was being sucked into a hot cloud of sensation. It felt so very, very nice. He slowly reached down and inserted a careful finger into the leg band of the knickers, wanting to feel her tender, scalded flesh with his hand. He could smell her lotion again, sweet and soapy and cheap smelling. Her hair was so soft under his cheek.

Hermione cried a little harder as his fingers ghosted her skin. He can't hurt me, she told herself, he can't hurt me. Malfoy ran his fingers over her skin again. "You've been a--- bad little--- girl, Hermione." His voice was ragged and unlike himself. Suddenly he went still, gasped, groaned. She felt him shift under her, heard him murmur a spell to stick her to the bed. He stood up and left her like that for a long, long time.

Hermione lost any sense of time. Her world was the comforter, the stinging pain in her bottom and the occasional sob that hitched, like a metronome, from her chest. She had a vague perception that she'd been there a long while; the calm, nearly mute part of her brain shrugged this off as irrelevant; he'd come back and then she could move. She wondered why she didn't doubt he'd come back.

Torn between disgust and the best orgasm he'd ever had, Draco took a shower in the comfortable bathroom. Not that it hadn't happened before; the fact he took pleasure in hurting her wasn't even an issue for him; rather, he was ashamed at his loss of control. The whole situation made him feel dirty…and desperate for more.

Redressing, he went to see what his toy was doing. Greeted by the lovely site of his half naked mudblood, he sat beside her and shook her gently by the arm. Her eyes flickered open at once.

" You're such a lucky girl, Hermione wouldn't you say?"

She forced down a wave of revulsion. "Yes, sir."

"Earlier, for example, you were both careless and very disobedient. You're fortunate to have someone to help you correct these behaviors aren't you? " He unstuck her enough to get a leg under her, just as he had before.

"Yes, sir." Her teeth were gritted tightly, tightly enough her jaw was sore the next morning.

He raised the slipper and tapped her lightly with it. " This kind of thing seems to get through to you better than anything else, so you're getting a long, hard slippering. After a certain point, you decide when your knickers come down. The longer you wait, the harder I smack you. Your choice, my girl."

She pressed herself into the blankets and shut her eyes. Malfoy shifted a little. She felt him tense slightly and bring his arm back. Then the sound of something whipping through the air and **S**_**MACK SMACK SMACK**_(_OWWITHURTS_) _**SMACK SMACK**_ (_OUCH_)_** SMACK SMACK**_ (_PLEEEAASE_)_**SAMCK SMACK SMACK **_(_SORRYY_)

(_NOPLEASE STOP_)_**SMACK SMACK**_(_IMSORRRRYNEVERAGAAIN_)_**SMACK SMACK SMACK**_ **SMACK**(_OWWOWWOWW_)** SMACK SMACK(**_NOMORRE_)**SMACK SMACK SMACK**(_HURTSPLEEASESTOP_)_**SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK **__( IT BURRRNS!)_

He laughed lightly. "Means it's working. Stop struggling now, you know you need this."

He paused for a second. She twisted, trying to rid herself of the horrible burning sting,

"Down!"

"Pull what down?"

"Down, burns!"

He hissed air through his teeth in annoyance. Setting aside the slipper for a moment, he brought his hand down hard on her thigh. She bucked, sobbing frantically.

"You ( swat!) are not(swat!) in control here ( swat!). I am ( swat!). I say when they come down ( swat!), and if you're giving orders (swat!), then you aren't ready for this to be anywhere close to over (swat!). So lie there ( swat!) and take your medicine (swat!) like a good little girl(swat!).

By the time they were done, Hermione was a limp, wailing mess. He'd had to pull her knickers down shortly after they'd talked, simply because she was so worked up. By then she wasn't even coherent, more's the pity. He'd given her a few good whacks and then left off, unwilling to risk damaging her.

Hermione bawled, feeling that sweet cloud of obliterating nothingness shrouding her. She was vaguely aware that Malfoy had stopped hitting her. She could perceive his actions in the same way a person looking in a steamy bathroom mirror can 'see' their own face: habit, estimation and a fair bit of intuition. He was making no move to get up, seemed to be simply waiting.

She found she didn't care much. All that seemed real to her was pain and the strange heaviness of her limbs. She gulped and sniffled, trying to get herself under control, but that part of her which seemed to need ( want?) this told her to stop. It would run it's course, that was all. She would ride her senses and give her vast, hungry brain some time to rest.

Draco tapped his toy's shoulder to get her attention. "Can you listen?"

She nodded, which he decided was good enough for now (generous, very generous of him, he thought).

"I have some work to do. You'll stay here and rest. I won't have you making yourself sick with emotional excess."

She nodded again but made no move to stand, preferring to burrow into the bed. Grunting with annoyance, Draco lifted his toy and set her on her feet, pulled the covers back and guided her to the bed.

"Honestly, there are days I think I ought to hire you a nursemaid and be done with it. At least then you'd stop looking like some pitiful little mudblood ragamuffin. What do you say, Hermione?"

"Thank you."

He reached down and patted her glowing backside. She whimpered slightly. "I rather like thinking of your red arse under those robes, so unbearably hot and sore. It is, isn't it?"

"Hmmm?"

"Pay attention' he scolded, giving her backside a pat. She opened one eye and shook her head a bit to clear it. He repeated the question.

"Ummm-hmmm. Hurts."

He feigned sympathy. "Poor girl. Next time, you'll remember your place, I warrant."

"Y'sir." Her breathing was deep and even. He pushed the blanket over her and walked out, anticipating the pleasures of his own library and total privacy.

When he came to wake her two hours later, her face was pale and calm. She got up at once, realized she wore no knickers and blushed almost as red as her bottom. A delightful image, that, one to treasure. He made her let him spend a good long time looking, then bade her dress.

For her part, Hermione's strange calm persisted back to the Tower. Her problems were distant and unobtrusive. Malfoy was silent beside her, hardly saying anything. When they reached the portrait, he shoved a hand into his pocket and thrust a small parcel of something at her.

She pocketed it. They parted in the usual fashion. No one was around, and she climbed alone to her room. She wanted a big glass of very cold water, more sleep. Sitting on her bed, she opened the little parcel. It contained a tin of salve and a note in Malfoy's clear, regular script.

"Apply 2xs daily to fingertips to stop biting. I will be checking to see it's been done. Also, no rubbing. I'll know."

Hermione did as the note instructed, took a cautious nip of a loose cuticle and was rewarded with a foul taste that made her gag. Still faintly nauseous, she changed into a nightgown and climbed into her bed. Her bum throbbed. Her hands went back to message the sting out but fell limp at her sides instead. He probably would know, she thought, smiling sourly. Damned slimy git. Fucking pervert of a ferret. If she never had to see him again, it would be too soon.

She couldn't sleep right away, which was strange. After she and Ferret met, she usually slept like the dead, which, she assumed, had to do with the sheet amount of emotional energy she spent crying and struggling.

She nestled into the sweet smelling covers and thought about the strange turn her life had taken. " I would stop it' she declared to the sleeping Crookshanks ' of course I would."

Her voice sounded thin and unconvincing even to her. It was true, though, wasn't it? She'd stop it if she could. Wouldn't she?


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Love to reviewers**

**This chapter took on a life of it's own. I don't have my set of HP books handy, so please chalk any differentation from canon up to my mistakes.**

**The bit with the hair brushing came from the blog of a dear lady with tastes suitable to this story, who in turn received it from an anonymous person who wrote about it in the 'comments' section, who'd heard it from a friend. Therefore, credit to whomever it belongs to.**

**On a similar note, Bellatrix's hairbrush ( last seen in the 'Age of Voldemort' series) makes a brief guest star appearance. Please pardon it's haggard appearance, it's been working too much of late and is in need of some downtime. Hermione seems to run afoul of this brush a lot, doesn't she? Even switching universes doesn't help. :)**

**Finally, the spell book's title is meant to read 'Mirror of Dark Magic'. Errors are numerous and purely mine.**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione nearly fell, obliging Malfoy to slow his steps while she recovered. He said nothing, and as soon as she was upright, he forged ahead, maintaining his death grip on her wrist. He had said nothing for quite some time, his mouth held together so tightly his lips had gone white.

They weren't going to the Room, not yet. Draco was far too perturbed to generate the force of will needed to make things to his specifications. Instead, he was leading her ever deeper into the castle, to one of the dozens—maybe hundreds—of disused classrooms that pocked Hogwarts.

Draco looked back at his mudblood and was gratified to notice she looked scared. He tightened his hand on her arm and marched her faster along the empty corridor, feeling the familiar lust rising in his stomach and shoving it down. There were more important matters at hand, literally.

In a deserted corner he found the perfect place. A quick scourgify cleaned the dust and lit a fire in the grate. He warded the door and windows and fireplace to assure them privacy, and then slowly took off his robe and laid it, folded on a desk. Then he sat and finally looked at his toy.

Hermione found herself more and more nervous, the longer he was silent. Malfoy, she'd noticed, was a compulsive talker under ordinary circumstances. Tonight he was worse than silent; when she'd tried to break the silence to explain, he'd snapped "Shut up."

Draco smiled inside. As livid as he was, it was pleasant to watch the mudblood really squirming for the first time in forever, hands twisting themselves anxiously and face flushed. She was shifting from foot to foot unconciously. She looked like a child who'd been caught at some naughty, forbidden activity and knew she was to be punished. Which was, he reflected, far from incorrect in the main.

"Well? What have you to say for yourself?"

"She wasn't teaching--"

"You should have known better."

Hermione inhaled and forced her temper down. " You're right. We should have known better. Thank you for getting me out of there, Malfoy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I want to go and see what's become of the others." She turned to go, only to feel him grab her elbow.

"Think it's that easy, do you? That you can say 'you're right' and waltz out of here and it will all be fine? Not a chance of that, my girl."

She tried to pull away. His grip on her arm tightened.

" I mean it, Malfoy, let me go. I have to check--"

His other hand seized her chin and held it with surprising gentleness. She was startled to suddenly be looking him in the eye.

"I don't think you heard me. I said you're staying here. For one thing, they won't expect you back for several hours; Umbridge thinks I'm interrogating you, remember?"

That made sense. She let herself relax a fraction, but he relinquished neither hold on her. Instead, he lightly jerked her head a bit, to get her attention. Then he let his hands drop.

"I seem to remember, Granger, telling you something about this club."

She nodded. Heat was creeping into her face, a dull wash of warmth and an embarrassing sense of wanting to let her lip poke out a bit—not pouting, of course, but something that was a bit too close for comfort.

"I mentioned being very, very unhappy if I should find out you'd hidden something, didn't I?"

She nodded again. Her skin was tingling slightly, a warning that things were about to get dangerous. "Come here." He patted his knee in the traditional gesture.

"No."

His eyebrow peaked. " If I didn't know better, I'd swear you told me 'no'."

"I'm in no mood--"

Malfoy sighed hugely. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Quaffle's in your airspace, Granger."

" You are _not_ punishing me for this."

"No?"

"No' she decided firmly. 'I've done nothing wrong."

He laughed aloud. "My God. You really don't get it, do you? You could be killed for this."

"Don't be absurd, it's only--"

"Only what? Treason ? Illegally contravening Ministry policy? Not to mention lying, sneaking about and directly defying me?"

"You never said--"

"You weren't to help Potter start some kind of revolt against Umbridge?"

She huffed. "Listen, Malfoy, when this---this thing---started, it was my understanding that you wanted to, to _hurt_ me. Because it gives you pleasure to humiliate me and make me suffer. Isn't that right?"

He gestured expansively. "Among other reasons, yes."

" But that's all I agreed to. You never said anything about wanting anything else, so you can't count the things I do when I'm not here against me. It's apples and oranges."

He gave a long suffering sigh. "Needs change, Granger. I'm a complex man. And I never said all I wanted was your pain— pain is only part of the appeal. I like power. Control. And the things we do—not just the smacking but the other things—are an outlet for that."

She tried to formulate a reply. " Yes, but it's not fair to---"

"Life is not fair. And you can't say it hasn't helped, can you?"

"You honestly think what you do is helpful to me? It isn't. Not in the least."

Malfoy eyed her askance. " I ought to whack you just for saying that. And yes, I think helps. That night after the Weasel's father was almost snake food, you thanked me. Or have you forgotten?"

"I suppose it did help a little, but do you have to treat me like you do?"

"Would you rather I start hurling abuse? Perhaps make you lick my shoes or something distasteful?"

"No, of course not."

"I never lied to you about my tastes, Granger. Not once."

"Yes, I know, but…"

"But?"

To her credit, Hermione knew she was fighting a losing battle and decided to try anyway. She took a deep breath. "I simply don't like it, that's all."

Malfoy kept a straight face for almost thirty seconds. "You don't like it. Well, my word, Granger, why didn't you say so? We could have been sipping tea and discussing the finer points of potions theory instead."

He pointed to the corner. She shook her head. " Why am I unsurprised you chose the hard way?"

"I won't do it." She wasn't going to stand in the corner, she wasn't getting smacked and she certainly wasn't going to feed Malfoy's sick need to control her.

"You have to the count of ten to be in the corner. One…two…three…I'd go if I were you…four…you're on very thin ice…five…six…seven…last chance…eight…nine…ten. Your choice."

One moment Hermione was upright before Malfoy. The next she was falling toward the ground and then his knees caught her midsection. The shock was dreadful. A second later he was smacking her—smacking her hard---right over her trousers. She yelped, squirming, but he ignored her.

Draco threw his leg over his pet's to get her to lie still. She was trying to fight him but, thank Merlin, he'd conditioned her too well for anything beyond a token struggle. It was sort of…well, if it were any girl but Granger it would have been cute. Shrugging this off, he simply whacked a little harder.

"Malfoy, dammit, let me up!"

"No."

"I said let me up, now!"

"Mmm, yes, the best way to convince me not to punish you is to throw a tantrum about it."

"Fuck you!"

"Sounds like someone needs a good nap after her punishment."

He gave her another minute, not especially hard, and then stopped. He carefully lifted her under the arms and set her to her feet, rose himself. She anticipated another hand to her arm, but instead he reached up and grabbed hold of her ear. Draco wordlessly dragged his pet to the closest corner and put her in.

"Malfoy, that really hurt!"

"You seem to listen better with a sore arse, Granger. Consider it an installment on what you've got coming."

"I meant my ear, that hurt!"

He shrugged. "If you can't act like a big girl, then you'll need to be treated like a little girl. Now stand here and think about what you've done."

It was the longest minutes of Hernione's life. She kept her hands tightly clasped in front of her, careful not to rub. She still felt angry and defiant, but common sense had begun to creep back in, and she realized that fighting him overtly was a bad idea.

For his part, Draco's ire had calmed enough for him to thoroughly enjoy the proceedings. He let the mudblood stew for a good quarter hour, watching her to make sure she didn't do anything untoward. She was standing very still, and every so often he heard a soft little sniffle. Served her right, the daft creature.

"All right, Granger, come here."

She obeyed him, for a change. Draco got a grip and began to drag her towards the door, hoping she'd cooperate this time, because it was a damned site harder to drag her than it was to lead her…aggressively.

Before she knew it they were outside the Room again. Draco dropped his voice and murmured in her ear "Umbridge said I could keep you as long as I like. And I shall."

They pushed through and reformed the house. Hermione was surprised to find herself relaxing slightly as they mounted the steps. Here the world was predictable, within certain bounds. And if the price for a degree of consistency was pain and humiliation, she found she could accept it. If only it weren't Malfoy…or if it had to be Malfoy, if only he hadn't looked so very, very angry.

He pointed her to the library. They took up the accustomed places and within minutes her she was swiftly turned up and Draco began the less than onerous task of reheating her bottom.

"Not that you need it, but I do love to watch your arse bouncing under my hand. Ah ah ah, don't cover! I was going to wait to pull these trousers down, but---that's it, stand up. No, arms at your sides, I'm doing this."

He undid her trousers and slipped them down, enjoying the slight cling. She stepped out without being told, face blushing nicely. Draco smiled at his toy. She'd been dreadfully, flagrantly disobedient, but he was taking care of that. And most enjoyably, too. Well, not for her.

Hermione squirmed, acutely uncomfortable. Not with being half naked in front of Malfoy, which was alarmingly familiar these days, but with the cheerful gleam in his eye. She liked him best when he was distracted, or slightly grumpy. A cheerful Malfoy was a plotting Malfoy, she'd found to her sorrow.

"All right, my girl, upstairs with you. I'll be up to deal with you directly."

Hermione bent to retrieve her trousers and was stopped with a sharp smack to the thigh. Malfoy shook his head, smirking. "Those are staying with me."

She paled. "I can't walk around like this!"

"Why not? Nothing I haven't seen before."

Face burning, she turned and walked up the stairs. Draco, sitting on the couch, was treated to a fine view of her arse, blushing a dark pink. He reached down and gently stroked himself a little.

It had been tough getting Umbridge to let him have Granger. And he was sure Snape was suspicious. He smirked, remembering the scene. How perfectly the players had aligned, as though the universe had rewarded his cunning and boldness in so clever a scheme.

"I think we've a rapport now, Professor." He'd tried to project sincerity and helpfulness. Umbridge looked at the mass of students and said nothing, her mind clearly working.

"She's one of the ring leaders, no doubt."

"Of course. But if I can't do it, then I'm sure Father would come and help me, if needed."

Umbridge's face flushed a little. He could feel her wandering into the trap he was so carefully laying.

"Do you think it would be necessary?"

He'd dropped his voice to an almost whisper. " Granger is very rule abiding at heart, Professor. I think the guilt will make her crack. She simply needs a hand to help her see things our way. It would probably take some time…"

Umbridge's flat eyes were gleaming. "As much as you want. And you may use my fireplace to call your father, should it become necessary."

"Thank you. I feel confident that I can get to the bottom of this."

As he'd dragged her out, Snape had burst through the door. At the sight of his godson wrestling Granger into a corridor, he'd raised a black brow questioningly. Draco had pretended not to see. Let Snape wonder; after all, what had Snape ever done for him?

And so here they were. Draco took the stairs slowly, letting her anticipation build. Opening the door he found Granger sitting on the bed, arms crossed. He smothered a laugh. He never thought he'd live to see Gryffindor's star pouting like a scolded child.

She looked as though she wanted to say something but he cut her off. " My goodness, you look a mess! We shall have to take care of that, shan't we?"

He opened the drawer on the bedside table and found what he'd known would be there. He drew out the brush and sat down behind her. Taking the mass of hair in his hands, he gently separated a section and began to brush. Granger went rigid.

"Hasn't anyone ever brushed your hair for you?"

"My mother, but I don't see--"

"I like to watch your face during your punishments. Pain quite transfigures you."

To Draco's surprise, his pet was relaxing. He wondered for a moment about this muggle mother who brushed her daughter's hair. She didn't love Granger enough to discipline her properly, at least according to Granger; she loved her enough to do this for her. His motives were quite different, of course, and held no love as most people understand it; in some vague way, he punished Granger for her own good and did things like this to hurt her. Pain, he reflected as he smoothed her hair, comes in many guises.

"Well, Hermione, here we are again. Tell me, did you think like I told you?"

Hermione glared. He was tapping her at her shoulder in a way that indicated he expected an answer and so she said flatly "Yes, sir."

"The preliminaries have already done a world of good for your manners. I imagine, once the Dark Lord gives you to me, that I shall have to smack you every night. Before we sit down for supper, so I can watch you squirm the whole meal. Though you know better than that now, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

He drew her hair into a ponytail. "What conclusions have you come up with?"

"That we ought to have been more careful, for one." She felt him tying it with something, tightly but not painfully.

He nodded. "Very good. Anything else?"

"It was dangerous." And totally worth it, her mind added rebelliously. Aloud she said nothing, casting her eyes to the bed spread.

Draco wasn't fooled. "I'm not convinced you're sincere. Is it worth the effort to make you try again, or shall we simply cut to the chase?"

Her silence answered him. Setting the brush aside, he took his toy under the arms and draped her across his lap, resting her upper body on the bed. He carefully pinned her and, drawing back his hand

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK

(owwwpleaseithurtsowwwowwwithurtsstopillbegoodowww)

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK

(Owwwwpleaseenoughithurtsfromearlierimsorryitwonthappenagain)

"Stop wiggling, Hermione, you're getting every second of this."

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK

(Aieeeeeowwwwwwpleaseimsosorepleaseeoughpleasepleaseplease)

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK

"That ought to do for now.' He cupped her burning flesh and grinned at the way she yelped. Wasn't so high and mighty now, was she?

"How's your arse feeling? It's very red, especially where you sit. Hot, too. Incredibly tender, I imagine. Has your attitude changed any?"

She nodded, crying to hard to talk. More accurately, too hard to make sense.

"Say it again, Hermione, I didn't quite catch that collection of sobs and groans."

"Rub, please!"

"You want me to let you rub?"

"Uhh-huh! P-please, it's just awful! F-feels like my bum is on fire!"

"Of course it does. Naughty girls get what?"

"S-smacked!"

"That's right. If you'd told me like a good girl, you'd be sitting comfortably. Speaking of which, up you get." He lifted her under her arms and held her while her rubbery legs adjusted, careful not to hold her too tight. Paddling her arse seemed totally reasonable, but Draco drew the line at anything resembling an embrace.

Holding her wrists he marched her to the corner, where a small three legged stool had appeared. Sobbing, she tried to beg off but Draco was determined,

"You see what happens when you give me back chat? Perhaps having to sit on that burning bum will encourage you to do as you're told."

He gently pushed her onto the stool and stuck her, ignoring her howls of protest. He reached down and put a finger to her lips. "Hush, you deserve this. I'll be up to finish punishing you later."

Dropping the brush on the dresser, he left her there almost half an hour, during which he had a very enjoyable time replaying the experience in his mind. He refused on principal to be anywhere near Granger while he did this, lest she think she had somehow caused it. Besides, the sound of her mewling and sniveling would make it harder to concentrate.

When he returned he saw that she had fallen silent. Draco unstuck her and helped her back to the bed. "Now, what did I promise you if I found out on my own? Do you remember?"

She nodded, not catching his eyes. "Hairbrush."

"Pardon? Speak up, and enunciate, please. Mumbling is a common, muggle kind of habit."

"You said I'd get the brush."

"It's on the dresser, Hermione."

Hermione sniffled. The time in the corner had been truly terrible. Not only the pain, which was enormous, but the full implications of what could have happened were sinking in. Worse than that, she was thinking of Edgecombe.

Hexing that parchment had seemed like such a good idea at the time. She'd been doing a little late night research when she'd noticed the Restricted Section was right there. Surely a small peek wouldn't hurt?

And when she'd found the grimoire, it had fallen open to a spell that seemed just perfect. The book assured it was harmless, causing no serious damage. She'd inspected it carefully and it seemed all right.

Which was, of course, the fatal error. She'd had the idea to spell the roll sheet no more than ten minutes before the meeting, when digging in her rucksack. She found the sheet of parchment on which she'd scrawled the spell, and decided to use it.

She'd noticed when the Squad was pulling the struggling DA from the Room that Edgecombe was stroking her face, worrying it lightly with her nails. That had begun the wheels turning, and she'd been worrying ever since.

She got a good look at the brush he'd used on her. It put her old transfigured brush to shame. This brush was pitch black, nearly three centimeters thick, carved of some shiny, smoothly grained wood. It would have been a beautiful thing if she hadn't know exactly what it was for. Grimacing, she took it by the handle, feeling the weight, and carried it back. Her mind was utterly blank and calm. She would be punished but it was all right. She deserved it. Edgecombe might be badly hurt because of her. Disfigured. She might even die somehow, all because of Hermione's own uncharacteristic impulsivity.

"Isn't it exquisite? My mother's got one exactly like it. Belonged to my aunt, apparently."

"Yes, sir."

He looked at her face for a moment. " You're up to something. Out with it."

"I can't. Please, not now."

Draco felt inclined to let it go, for the nonce. He reached over and pulled his toy's knickers not down but off, and folded them like he had her trousers. She didn't react, itself a sign something was wrong. "Over my knee, little girl. You won't sit for a month when I'm done with you."

She took up position and found her torso stuck to the bed. He shifted her a bit and then raised the brush.

WHACK… WHACK …WHACK

"OWWWWW! NOPLEEAASEE!"

WHACK… WHACK… WHACK

It didn't sting as much as the switch but it was close enough to share a fence. Hermione kicked desperately, trying to move her bum out of the line of fire. He was hitting every place three times, three hard swats that burned intolerably on her already sore and reddened skin.

WHACK… WHACK… WHACK

"AIEEEEEEEE!NOMORE!"

WHACK… WHACK… WHACK

She revised her opinion; it did hurt as much as the switch. Draco was silent, allowing the systematic scalding of every inch of her backside speak for him. What else was there to say, really? She'd misbehaved and now she had to take her medicine.

He shifted her forward a bit and her bawling went up a notch. She knew he was aiming for her sit spots.

WHACK…WHACK…WHACK

"OWWWWWWWWWW! OWWWWWWWWW!"

WHACK…WHACK…WHACK

"SORRRRRRYYYYYY! PLLEEAAASE!"

Finally he broke the silence. "Now you are. You weren't at the time, were you? You're sorry for your own bum, not because you disobeyed."

"No, sorry please! Sorry!"

"There's not a thing in the world that will dissuade me from giving what you deserve, so save your breath. All you're going to do is lie there like and cry like a naughty little girl while I blister you. Understand?"

"Listen! Please!"

"This had better be good or it's your hide, literally."

In broken sobs and gasps she told him about Edgecombe.

"You_ what_? You know better than to use unknown magic on someone! And what was the name of the book where you found it?"

She whispered the name. "_Speculum Veneficia Atterimum"._

"Granger! That's practically as bad as Magick Moste Evile!"

"It said the spell was h-harmless."

"Books in the Restricted Section have a different definition of harmless than the rest of us." He dealt her a solid whap on the thigh with the brush and dispassionately noted her wail.

"If you weren't over my lap this second you certainly would be now. I ought to whack you within an inch of your life."

Her crying changed. Rather than sheer agony and shame, she pressed her face into the comforter and bawled with remorse. Having Draco Malfoy, of all people, scold her for doing something potentially hurtful, and the knowledge that he was right and she deserved it made it a thousand times worse.

"All right, enough. I'm going to finish your smacking and then put you down for a nap."

"I'm sorry! So sorry!"

"Not as sorry as you will be."

**WHACK… WHACK… WHACK**

"OWWWWWWWWWWW!"

**WHACK…WHACK…WHACK**

"AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! NEVERAGAIN!"

"You have that right." He finished by giving a solid dose to the exact crease between bottom and thigh, which produced cries so loud he decided to forgo her thighs, just this once.

Hermione was limp on the bed. The horrible guilt and shame, the terror of being caught, the uncertainty about what had happened to her friends had fused into a single knot inside, and now it must be dissolved.

Draco let his toy cry. He was horrified that Granger would be so careless and stupid, but also slightly impressed by the sheer nastiness of what she had done, albeit inadvertently. If she'd had a decent family, and with appropriate guidance, she might have had the makings of a Slytherin.

He waited until her sobs had quieted to the occasional gasp and whimper.

"Feel better?"

She lifted a swollen face from the soft comforter and nodded. "Y'sir. Still feel bad about Edgecombe."

Malfoy smirked. "Gryffindors. She brought it on herself by betraying you."

"Shouldn't have used the spell. Stupid of me."

"Yes, it was. But I doubt you'll do it again, will you?"

"Never!"

He laughed. " She's finally learning. And now, my girl, you're going to bed."

She tried to protest. "Have to get back and check on the boys."

Draco shook his head. " You can't possibly go back like this. Potty and the Weasel will manage without you for a night."

She shook her head resolutely "Please, I have to see they're all right. She might have hurt them."

He unstuck her and carefully guided her to her feet. "Yes, she might. But there's nothing you can do if she did. She'd only hurt you as well."

He spelled the covers back and inserted Granger between them. Granger flopped down on her stomach ( simply must correct the loose limbed way she moved at these moments—so unfeminine and mudblooded!) but kept her head up.

"Please, let me--"

Draco planted a hand on his pet's skull and pushed it lightly into the pillow. "This is not up for negotiation, little girl. I'm starting to think I let you up too soon."

Hermione prudently stopped arguing and concentrated on taking deep, slow breaths. The sheets were crisp white cotton, lightly scented with some sweet smelling herb. Malfoy's hand was still resting on her head. He had surprisingly delicate hands, Malfoy.

Was she asleep? Draco watched her, half afraid to move. He didn't want a confrontation, any more than he wanted to plumb his motivation in the things he was doing. Like the fact his hand was still in her hair. He curled his fingers slightly. Her hair was a mass of loose curls, as uncontrolled as his two aunts' in the pictures Mother kept under her vanity table. Soft, though. The brushing had really made it gleam. He was glad he'd had the idea.

The mudblood, the filthy mudblood, asleep under his hand. Unconsciously, Draco grimaced. Father always said muggles were dirty, like animals living in their own squalor. His skin prickled painfully and the temptation to draw his hand away was suddenly an imperative. His grip weakened and then gave way completely. Pulling his hand back, half expecting to see it stained. It was clean. He dropped his face into his hands and breathed. Realized he could smell her hair, soapy and sweet, on his skin.

She was out. He quickly spelled her sheets to tighten about the edges, to make sure she wouldn't try to creep away while he was occupied. Not that she would succeed, of course. Then he went to the bathroom and ran the shower hot enough to steam the mirrors. Masturbated, back to the spray, forcing his mind to anything that wasn't Granger. It didn't work. His mind kept showing him flashes of what they had done, the way she kicked and cried and let out breathy little sobs. The stiffness of her back before an especially strong stroke, legs trembling, eyes shut, feet drumming the ground. The desperate clutching at the sheets, the total power he had in those moments, when he could dictate what she did, how she acted, the incredible thrill of it, the sheer heady… his back arched and he gave in, welcoming the end and grieving it, wanting to hold on to that sensation.

Toweling off, he found a soft pair of trousers and a t-shirt—not exactly pajamas but close—and he donned them. Barefoot, he padded down the hall and checked on Granger. She was curled on her side, hands under her chin. The scrap of green ribbon in her hair was very bright against the white sheet.

Checking his watch, he saw it was just after midnight. They'd captured the group of idiots at quarter after eight. What an eventful night it had been. He could have thought up another room but he was suddenly exhausted beyond words.

A bed popped into being just beside Granger's. Malfoy set the alarm for seven and climbed in. The sheets smelled of lemon verbena. He laid his back and listened to his toy's peaceful breathing. She always slept so soundly after a punishment. He wondered what it took to make Granger cry in the normal course of things. She cried plenty for him, of course, but who wouldn't? No one would ever claim Draco Malfoy went easy on his pet when she'd earned a whacking.

He shut his eyes, allowed himself to wonder what it would feel like to lie skin to skin, the beds fused into one, her red hot arse pressed into him, feeling her heartbeat against his chest. Ignored the erection that was starting, and went to sleep instead. Dreamed of nothing.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I meant to write a new chapter, I really did. Apparently, the characters had other ideas, because they would not leave me alone until I wrote this. Seriously, every bit as bad as regular teenagers but harder to bribe with Skittles.**

**I'm hoping this chapter will shed some light on Draco's character. Obviously, my interpretation of Pureblood society is no more valid than anyone's. **

**Please read and review.**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco slid out of bed just before the alarm went off. He brushed his teeth and then came back and sat reading. The mudblood was still sleeping. Her back was to him. He waited until seven thirty and then shook her awake.

"Why are we still here?"

He smirked. "I promised Umbridge I'd interrogate you."

"Wasn't last night enough?"

Malfoy chuckled. "Hardly. She doubtlessly thinks I've kept you all night sticking needles under your finger nails or something. We mustn't disappoint her. No, on the whole it shan't do at all."

Hermione didn't like where this was going. Not a bit. She had to handle this very, very carefully. Taking a deep breath, she said as cautiously as she could "Sir?"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"With all due respect, what won't do? I was already punished and I'm sure I'll never do it again."

Draco laughed. " Of course you are. I meant what you look entirely too well for someone who's just been tortured all night by a Malfoy."

She found herself wanting to giggle slightly. " What has that got to do with anything?"

"Everything. Not that I would expect you to understand."

"Understand what?"

Draco threw back his head and gave her his best withering look, the one Narcissa used with such success. "Standards, my girl, must be upheld. Noblesse Oblige and all that."

This time she did laugh. "Then you're a Malfoy even while we're doing this?"

"This is the time I'm a Malfoy the very most. Malfoys are made to rule and be obeyed."

Hermione had always assumed that Malfoy was being perverse when he put on airs. She realized suddenly and jarringly that was not so; he honestly believed that. She blinked.

"What?"

"Why should anyone rule over anyone else?"

It was Draco's turn to be amazed. "The universe is based on order, Granger. Suppose your father gave you a command and you disobeyed him. Wouldn't you be punished?"

"No. He'd talk to me about it and then we'd make a compromise."

The room was silent for almost a full minute. "That, Granger, is positively the very stupidest thing I have ever heard. He'd _talk_ to you?"

" To see where we had failed to communicate."

"What does he have to say about all the things you and Potter and Weasley get up to?"

Draco noticed a fine sheen of pink rising in his pet's cheeks and creeping slowly to her hairline. Something clicked in his brain. "He doesn't know."

"I didn't want to worry them." Her voice was quiet, almost meek. Draco could have laughed aloud, if he weren't so totally, absolutely appalled. "Your mother doesn't know either?"

Granger shook her head. "They wouldn't understand. They like magic, but it's the difference between a puddle and the sea to them. You have to able to do it to be able to appreciate what it's really like."

"You mean you've never been punished for any of the stuff the three of you have done? You stunned a teacher, for Merlin's sake!"

"Of course we got—how did you know about that?"

He raised his eyebrows. " Things get around."

"We did get punished. We've lost house points and gotten loads of deten—"

Malfoy shook his head. "That's nothing. Remember the troll during first year?" She nodded. "A proper wizarding family would have given you strong inducement never to do a thing like that again. I'd be willing to wager you still wouldn't be sitting comfortably."

"I'm not sitting comfortably now." Hermione didn't feel embarrassed to mention this, she noted with faint surprise. It was simply a fact of her life. Malfoy's lips quirked up for a second, almost like a smile, but then he was impassive again.

"I should hope not.' He pulled the covers back. "Roll over, Hermione." She obeyed, clearly filled with trepidation. He reached out a hand and gave her a light swat. She squealed.

" Mmm, not as red as I'd like, or as hot. Still sore?"

"Extremely. "

"Time to get up, Hermione. Go in the bathroom and do whatever it is you need to do."

He dressed while she was gone, and flipped through his Social History while he waited. It had been comforting to him, at age eleven, to find it. He understood at last that he was not alone in his desires, and his need for dominance—for power and control, for pain--- weren't especially abnormal. Moreover, he was a Malfoy. Who better to explore this aspect of himself than one born to these things anyway? Of course, at the time, he hadn't grasped that it sexual ( it still isn't, he told himself sternly. Not with a mudblood).

Even still, she'd been a godsend. His fantasies were every bit as fulfilling in person as they were in his mind, and the fact it was Granger made it all the sweeter. Then he'd come to understand that she had a destiny, and his, in part, was to guide her to it. She would help them, and the Dark Lord would spare her. The fact she would never voluntarily do that was a minor detail. But he felt confident he could fix it. He could fix virtually anything, given the time and the tools.

She still needed extensive training, of course. It would be long and time consuming, not to mention the skill and cunning it would take to keep them all ignorant of his plan until the time was right, not least Granger herself. He pushed all that away and settled back to study. When he found a part he liked, he read it through three times, and then pushed a corner down to mark his place. He sometimes wished he could find the wizard who wrote the thing and shake his hand as a thank you.

He expected she would be gone a long time, as Parkinson inevitably took at least forty five minutes to do anything of the sort (Hogsmeade weekends took two hours of primping, on average) When she returned in fifteen minutes he was incredulous, to say the least.

"I told you to get ready, Granger."

'I almost am. May I use your brush?"

"So quickly? What the hell does Parkinson do in there, then?"

She was dragging the brush through her sleep knotted hair, grunting slightly with effort as she tried to look as presentable as possible, knowing he would reject anything less. "I'm sure I wouldn't know." She let her hair hang down, pleased by how smooth and soft it was.

"Can't you pin it like other girls do?"

"I don't know how. Mum wears hers short."

He snorted. "_Quel surprise_. Didn't she teach you anything?"

Hermione stiffened. " Of course she did, but she's not the sort who's interested in her appearance. She works five days a week at the practice, not to mention all the time she donates to that women's shelter in--"

"Your mother works?"

"She's a dentist.' She saw his brow furrow and correctly guessed his next question ' A tooth doctor."

Draco understood everything ( except perhaps why someone would want to spend each day looking in the mouths of strangers). His parents were right; evil sprang from disorder, and disorder came from upsetting the right flow of things. Granger was proof—her mother's working had led to her neglect of Granger's moral education, which had created…well, Granger. This made his job both easier and harder, but no could say he was not up to it.

"Are you ready, Malfoy?"

"I decide when we eat, Granger, now sit down." She obediently took up a place on the bed, staring at the wall. Malfoy pointedly rustled a few pages, but he was quite hungry and relented sooner than he ought to have.

Since the Room did not generate food, Draco was obliged to call an elf. The idiot creature was all too pleased to bring them whatever they liked. Draco ordered for both of them; having had an epiphany, he'd realized that the sooner he re-ordered his pet's universe, the better off they would both be.

" Food should be here in half an hour or so. All right, my girl, now we interrogate you."

He picked up the book and flipped idly. "According to this, I ought to whack you without provocation every so often. Maintenance, they call it. What do you think?"

Hermione paled. "You already do that. Sir."

Draco looked at her over the top of the book. "When?"

"You always use your hand first. That's rather the same, isn't it?"

He snorted. "I do that because it brings all the blood to the surface, which in turn makes it less likely you'll bruise. Not at all the same."

She winced slightly, which didn't escape Draco. "I shall file this away for future consideration. For the moment' he carefully consulted the tom again, ' find a spatula."

Hermione's stomach dropped but she didn't dare disobey. The first drawer yielded a light, flexible scraper that seemed to fit the bill well enough, and with nervousness swimming in her veins, she brought it back to him.

Draco frowned. "This is a spatula?"

"Of course it is."

He shrugged. "If you say so. Trousers down and over my lap, little girl."

She found herself obeying almost on auto-pilot. Malfoy hefted the spatula and smiled. He was well aware that he couldn't put real marks on Granger, which meant he used the brush and other implements with a careful hand ( even the salve didn't protect indefinitely). The book assured him this thing was different. Light but strong, it was said to impart a painful 'surface sting' while being virtually unable to leave marks, meaning he could play as much as he liked.

He set it down. 'Remember when we played that game with the spoon?"

Hermione gulped. "Yes, sir."

"I've gotten smarter since then. I'm going to wallop you, then I'll ask. If I like your answers, the whacking stops. If I don't…I wonder if you can borrow a pillow from your Common Room to sit on for supper?"

His mudblood was wiggling miserably, which pleased him. If she was miserable he was doing his job—not to mention, her arse was superbly displayed and bouncing nicely.

"Lie still, like a big girl."

"But sir, I've been punished for this. I don't understand why—I thought you it was over." Her voice sounded slightly choked, not at all like her usual strident tones. 'Oh, hell' he thought, 'she'll start crying any moment.' Like most males, the idea of a crying girl was far worse to Draco than an enraged Hungarian Horntail.

"You were punished for disobeying, Hermione. This is so I can tell Umbridge I tried to get you to talk. She expects you to come back looking frightful and me to have something to tell her. This is the easiest way to accomplish both those things. Not to mention, little madam, these thighs are awfully pale. I need to make them match your bum. Never do anything halfway, that's my motto."

She laughed a little despite her fervent desire not to be in this position. "How comforting."

"Enough chat. Be a good girl and you can eat standing up."

He hand smacked her thighs to a nice dark pink. Granger was writhing satisfactorily, letting him know with every swat just how good she would be if only he'd stop. He locked an arm about her waist, unconsciously relaxed by the familiar weight and warmth of her body against his. His hand was stinging somewhat but, he mused, no pain no gain and so forth.

"I'm going to use the spatula now. When I stop, we'll have a little talk. I expect honesty, understand? Or else I'll summon the brush and wale your arse again."

He swung the spatula, curious to see what she'd do. It landed with a brisk clap on her rosy thigh and she immediately bucked, sobbing. "OWW!"

Draco smacked again, this time a little higher up. She kicked, gasping and crying. The spatula was easy to wield, he found, but it had a nice snap and got a very enjoyable reaction, especially the way she jumped and twisted. He liked that he could give a really long, through punishment without worrying that he'd hurt her.

**TWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP**

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP**

"What do you think?"

"**OWWWWWWW! T'RiBBLE! STINGS! TOO MUCH!"**

" Are you ready to talk?"

"**PLEAASE**!"

He laughed. "I've noticed a direct correlation between your manners and the state of your backside. Now, what about this club of Potter's?"

She sobbed another few seconds and then made herself calm down. "We j-just wanted some practical experience, that was all."

"So why call it Dumbledore's Army?"

"As a joke."

"Poorly thought out, my girl. When did it start?"

"Winter. Can't recall exactly."

He lightly stroked the spatula down her seared thighs, delighted by the little whimper he heard.

"Whose idea was it?"

"Mine. Wanted to make sure we'd pass the NEWTS."

"Potter didn't come up with the idea?"

"N-no. Talked him into it."

Draco shook his head. "Of all the asinine things I've ever heard…on the other hand, that means Umbridge is more likely to buy it. Something this damned stupid must be true. Anything else?"

She shook her head. "N'sir."

"Think I'll give you a bit more just to be sure."

She sniffled and tried to lift up to talk to him. "Please don't. It's horrid."

"Is it?"

"Yes! And I answered all your questions nicely."

"You did that. But who decides when you've been punished enough, Hermione?"

"You do, sir."

"And what do you do?"

"What?"

He lightly swatted her bottom, still clad in cotton knickers, these with a ridiculous pattern of little dancing rabbits. "Don't say 'what', it's common. Say 'pardon' instead."

"Pardon?"

"What do you do when you're being punished?"

"Lie still."

Draco was pleased. She was being unusually obedient this morning; possibly because Granger always seemed disgustingly cheery this time of day, or possibly because last night had actually made an impression.

"That's right. You lie still like a good girl and take your medicine, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Time for another dose."

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP**

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP**

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP**

His pet was howling by the time he was done. The backs of her legs were a bright, hot reddish pink. He lightly rested a hand on her thigh and heard her hiss sharply even through her sobs.

"How does that feel?"

"A-Awful! Owowow, it hurtsithurts!"

"Worse than your arse did last night, would you say?"

Hermione wondered whether Malfoy realized one hand was resting on the small of her back. It was actually rather…nice? She appreciated that he let her lie there after a punishment; she would have expected a git like himself to shove her off at once.

"N-not worse. Different."

"Different how?"

"Hairbrush burns deep down inside. This is more…"

"On the surface?"

"Y'sir. Feels really hot."

" I think it ideal for minor correction, don't you? Serious disobedience calls for something heavier, but this is exactly right for adjusting your attitude or something of that nature. Won't that be fun?"

Granger cried a bit harder but she was winding down. Draco gently pulled her to him and simply sat still, afraid that if he let her up she might want some kind of comfort. He suddenly found himself a touch nostalgic. Lucius could deliver a walloping that left a person hopping for five minutes, but he also had a knack for knowing exactly what was needed after. Draco sighed quietly, missing the sensation of sitting cuddled into his father's side, face buried in his neck. Not that he missed the arse blistering that preceded it, mind, but that sense of absolute love and safety was all too rare these days.

"All right, my girl. Breakfast will be here soon. Stand up and find a corner until it arrives."

Sniffling, Hermione minded, leaving her trousers down. At least he'd left her knickers alone. Draco intercepted the elf and brought the try in himself, judging it a necessary evil, and better than the elf seeing something and reporting it.

True to Malfoy's word, she was allowed to eat standing up. They tucked in with the relish of famished teenagers everywhere, and within minutes the food was gone. Draco set his fork down and picked up the spatula.

"What did you say you do with this again?"

"You scrape around bowls with it."

He nodded as though he understood. "Have you ever cooked?"

"All the time. I can make eggs, and porridge, things of that nature. You?"

He sneered. "Of course not. I've never even eaten food cooked by a human."

"Really?"

"Why should I? That's what house elves are for."

"What if there wasn't a house elf?"

Draco snorted. "Granger, there will always be a house elf. They like doing that kind of thing. It's degrading for a wizard to do psychical labor, so house elves do whatever is beneath us.' He paused thoughtfully for a moment. 'What else do you do?"

"I help with laundry and the rest of the chores, when I'm home. Why?"

He shook his head. Mudblood or no mudblood, it wasn't right that a witch should turn her hand to menial labor, especially for dirty muggles. He thought of his mother, who'd never cooked the slightest thing , or ironed her own robes or styled her own hair.

"And when you're here? I imagine you don't let the elves do your laundry or make your bed or clean your room?"

"I tried to tell them no but they won't listen. They wash for me, but I put everything away and make my bed."

He breathed through his teeth. "No wonder you always look a mess. From now on, you let them do their job. I expect to see you turned out nicely every day, and that includes your uniform. And get one of the other girls to teach you to style your hair; it's a rat's nest half the time."

Startled, she nodded. What in the world had prompted this? She tried to voice that thought but Malfoy cut her off. "Standards, remember? You're a wizarding female, and it's high time you looked and acted the part. Get ready to leave, Granger, I want you back in the dorm while the Gryffindors are eating in the Great Hall."

He walked her back, hand on her arm as though he were escorting her. At the portrait he paused and said loudly "I shall be sure to tell Professor Umbridge of your defiance and lack of helpfulness, Granger. I'm sure you can expect severe consequences."

She gave the password sotto voce and stepped into the quiet of the Common Room. As the door swung shut, Draco thought he saw her mouth something. It might have been 'Thank you.'

He walked down the stairs to find Umbridge and give his report. He'd extracted just enough to protect Granger. His plan was starting marvelously. They wouldn't be able to see one another for some time, partly because he knew Snape was suspicious and must be kept sweet. He felt a certain amount of regret; she was such a wonderful diversion.

The next time he saw her, things had changed in ways neither of them had predicted.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Love to all reviewers**

**This was a terribly hard chapter, and I hope very much I've done the whole thing justice. The timeline is probably a little wonky; I moved events closer together to facilitate things. Also, I don't remember Ron was that badly wounded--I took artistic license.**

**The CP in this chapter is pretty extreme, and much of the logic is strange ( if not outright self-contradictory). Again, please consider the motivations and ages of those involved.**

**Please R&R**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

"Granger. Over here." His voice was smooth and calm, devoid of obvious distress. That relieved her infinitely; Hermione did not think she could have borne it if he sounded heartbroken. He stepped from the shadows, looking much the same as ever, if pale. There was a suggestion of dark circles below his eyes.

Neither knew what to say. They studied one another a long time in the gloom. Finally Malfoy sighed and gestured silently for her to proceed him into the Room. Neither of them saw the figure hidden in a nearby alcove; but then, he was good at not being seen.

The house had changed, or rather, reverted. It was once again the grand, gloomy manor house, rather than the cute little cottage. It made Hermione uneasy for no real reason. She shivered slightly and looked at the Ferret. His face was blank.

By long habit they walked to the library. Draco perched on the couch and Granger took up her place before him, hands folded, studying her shoes. Her hair had not been brushed in a very long time, and from what he could see her fingertips were open again.

"What happened, Granger?"

" It was a trap There were there already. "

"Death Eaters."

"Yes."

Draco swallowed hard. Since his mother's hysterical letter four days previously, he had been in agony. For all Lucius' many faults, Draco adored his father and the thought of him suffering the torments of Azkaban was unbearable.

"Did you see my father?"

"He tried to kill us."

Hermione felt as though she were under water. The last few days had been a nightmare from which she could not awaken. Harry was uncommunicative, drawn in on himself with grief. Ron was badly wounded from the brains and Ginny was with him, along with the other Weasleys.

Malfoy was looking at her as though he expected her to say something. Out of habit, a hand went to her mouth and she bit down, comforted by the familiar small pain and the sweetly salty blood on her tongue.

The mudblood---his mudblood--- was biting her fingertips again. Draco's hand darted out and dealt her a slap to the wrist. She blinked and dropped her hand, eyes focusing better than they had been. A sudden comforting veil of familiarity dropped over the ocean of pain in his chest. He could still assert control.

The slap brought Hermione back. She'd been hovering on the brink of shock for days. The sensation of being wrapped in a wet wool blanket receded slightly.. He reached out and guided her by the wrist to sit next to him on the divan. Even in his maelstrom of grief—rapidly turning to anger—he had exactly enough foresight to know that punishing her was a terrible idea while he felt so out of sorts. She didn't fight his hold; almost leant into it.

"Potter and I had the nicest conversation today, Hermione. Can you imagine what it was about?"

"No, sir. I can't imagine."

"He seems to find this whole thing rather…funny. Droll, even. I tried to explain to him what a terrible idea it was, doing this to my father but he seemed less than receptive. Tell me, what do you think? Do you suppose it was wise to do what you did? Gallivanting off to the Ministry, fighting openly with people as powerful as the ones you were fighting?"

"I-I don't know. We thought Sirius was in trouble."

"Sirius? You mean Sirius Black?"

She said nothing. Draco shook her by the arm.

"I said, Sirius Black? What does he have to do with anything?"

Hermione realized she'd made a grave error. Malfoy clearly wanted answers, and was ignorant of exactly what Sirius had been to Harry. Thinking fast, she blurted "He wanted revenge."

It was exactly the right thing to say. Malfoy nodded thoughtfully. "Doesn't surprise me. I would, if I were him. Why did you go?"

"Harry is my friend. I wanted to make sure he didn't get hurt."

Malfoy snorted. "Some friend, always trying to get you killed."

"It's not Harry's fault he has bad luck. He never asked for any of this."

"Don't be naïve, of course he did. Always trying to save people, poking his nose into places he shouldn't. If he and the Weasel didn't have you to think for them, they'd be dead long since, and don't try to deny it."

Hermione was torn between the urge to defend her best friends and the pleasure of an unexpected compliment. She took the high road, not totally without regret.

"We all need one another. If it weren't for Harry and Ron, I wouldn't have made any friends first year."

" And I suppose you think he had your best interests at heart when he dragged you off on this fools' errand?"

"He never dragged me. I wanted to go."

Malfoy scooted closer. She smelled sweetly floral, some heady scent he couldn't quite name, and of white soap and freshly washed linen. He cocked his head and smiled at her . She tried to move backward, slightly disturbed by this strange behavior. His hold tightened.

"You chose your friends rather poorly, my girl. I think we need to discuss it in depth, don't you?"

She jerked hard at his grip. " You want to do _that_ at a time like this? "

"My father is sitting in fucking Azkaban, because of something you and your friends did. I don't like it, Granger. Not at all."

Hermione straightened. "Not what we did. What he did. He attacked us, for God's sake. Were we supposed to just lay down and die?"

Draco exhaled. " You'll pay for that. Stand up."

She did , and began to walk toward the door. "I'm done, Malfoy. I won't—"

The door slammed shut. Hard. She gripped the knob and turned it. Nothing.

"You let me out of here right now."

"No."

She turned and approached the bed. "You can't keep me here."

" Why not?"

She tried the knob again. Panic was rising in a tide within her. 'He can't hurt me, he can't hurt me' she frantically reminded herself. It wasn't much consolation ; she scrabbled at the knob, breathing a little hard.

Draco was enjoying the show. His pet was working herself into a fine tizzy, and bouncing around quite a bit to boot. He tolerated it for a minute or so before the thrill began to pall. Then he rose and came up behind her. Panicked, she didn't realize he was there until his arms closed about her. A second later he lifted her off her feet and carried her, struggling, to the divan.

Hermione found herself face down over his lap, of course. He pinned her legs and lifted the hem of her skirt well up. The sensation of helplessness, nakedness, was overwhelming. She immediately stopped kicking, trying to spare her modesty. She lay still, breathing hard.

"Have your attention, do I?"

He gave her a tremendous whack. She cried out as a bright red handprint asserted itself on her thigh, and Draco sighed with pleasure. The world had gone quite mad, but here everything was all right. God was in His Heaven, and Draco Malfoy was in control again.

"That show of temper is going to smart, little girl.' He gave her another tremendous whack, delighted when she kicked slightly. She made a sound that might have been a groan, or a soft sob, and tried to jerk from his grip.

" My my, we _are_ naughty tonight. I'm much too perturbed to punish you at the moment, Hermione. Nose in the corner."

Draco shooed his pet to her place and lay down on the couch, arms under his head. Granger was standing very still, the only sign of tension the tightness in her shoulders. She was all together too still and quiet for his liking—his Slytherin mind was sure this was some kind of ploy. Then again, she was the stupidest smart person he knew—she probably fancied herself too good and pure to try anything. Though she'd shown facility in deceiving her friends and teachers—his influence, no doubt.

Hermione kept her mind blank. She concentrated on breathing deeply and doing nothing to vex the Ferret. Her firm, analytical mind struggled against conscious thought—because she was fundamentally honest, if she thought she'd start to parse her emotions, and could not lie to herself. She wouldn't admit she wanted this, that she'd craved this since that horrible night. Craved the safety of lacking control, the sense of finally letting go.

Most of all, she wanted a good long cry. She'd never, never admit it, but deep down she felt a certain degree of gratitude to Malfoy when he punished her. She had a reputation to protect outsides these walls, after all: Gryffindor's resident voice of reason, the one who reined the boys in, the one with all the answers.

Not so with Malfoy—he'd seen her at her very worst, kicking and wailing like a child as he calmly pinned her to his lap, pleading not to be punished, promising to be a good girl if only he'd stop. He never stopped, and in a strange way, that was chiefest of his few virtues. Malfoy gave her what he thought she needed, not what she thought she needed, and definitely not what she wanted.

He took all sense of choice and the concomitant obligations to be good and responsible right out of her hands. Even as she begged, she understood that he'd stop when he was ready, and all she could do was lie there and writhe while he scolded and punished her like a child. Even the sleep afterword was welcome; it was the only decent sleep she'd been getting for months. It was wonderfully soothing, to lie in a warm bed, or on a sofa, knowing the only thing she had to concern herself with was taking a nap, the heat of her arse both warning and reassurance.

Draco sat and straightened himself up quickly before he called her over. If he wanted her to start looking the part, he'd have to be a good example. She looked much calmer, though still dreadfully pale, with circles under her eyes. Her lips had no color at all. If he hadn't known what had befallen her and that merry band of idiots she called friends, he'd have assumed she had some particularly dire strain of Troll Flu and sent her to bed in the Tower unpunished. Luckily, he did know, so she was in for it. He reached out and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look directly into his eyes as he talked.

"You have been. A very. Very. Naughty . Little girl. Haven't you?"

She opened her mouth, meaning to protest, to point out they'd been attacked, but his eyes were boring into her and she was so very, very tired. She didn't feel like the brave, competent witch who'd taken on the likes of Antonin Dolohov and Jonas Avery and won; she felt very young and very small. She tried to break eye contact and failed ; took a deep breath and burst into tears instead.

"Cry all you like, it won't get you out of what you've got coming. You've been warned time and time again about the consequences of your reckless disregard for your own safety, not to mention the rules. You could not have chosen a worse time for this, your situation is precarious like it is. If you weren't on the short list before, my girl, you are now." 'And you've made my case for sparing you that much the harder to make, you fool' he added silently.

Or had she? Perhaps this could be used, if he could show that he'd changed her totally. He filed this intriguing thought away for future consideration and turned to more important matters.

" This sort of willful disobedience will. Not. Be. Tolerated. Am I understood? I want you to go and get the spatula from the kitchen and bring it back."

She swallowed hard but obeyed. The house, made in Malfoy's image, had closed it's doors to her. Her only options, as far as the eye could see, were the kitchen and the library. She got the hated implement and carried it back, full of trepidation.

Draco took the spatula at once."You'll be relieved to know I have no intention of using my hand, Hermione.' He turned the spatula in his hand and regarded her with friendly interest. 'Think I'll use this on you instead. I'm very curious about what it might feel like on cool skin."

She blanched. "But you said…bruising…."

He smiled his sweetest. "Someone paid attention, I see. I also said the spatula causes surface sting only, didn't I? It won't bruise you but it will certainly make you a very sorry little girl."

She looked ready to cry again. Draco was savoring her obvious upset and made the slightest pause to prime her for what was coming next. " Don't look so glum, Hermione! I'll make sure you're well warmed up. You'll need to be; you're taking a little nature walk tonight."

Hermione couldn't control the gasp she made once the significance of his remark hit home. "Oh no, Malfoy, please. Not that. Please?"

Malfoy chuckled. " Anything you dread this much must be effective. Nose back in the corner, my girl, I want you to spend a little time contemplating your fate."

He felt he was being very magnanimous, only giving her five minutes. He worried any more time would simply encourage her to work herself into hysterics, which would be very inconvenient. He waited until she was standing in front of him, looking apprehensive in the extreme, before slowly rolling up his sleeves one at a time, and slipping his ring into the pocket of his shirt. Granger was shifting foot to foot like an anxious child, which would have been endearing in anyone else. She brought a hand up to her mouth absently and Draco took the opportunity to grab her hand.

"No, no, no' he sing songed, lightly slapping her wrist. 'You know better than that." Her face flushed at being treated so babyishly. He let it sink in and then said cheerfully "All right, little girl, you know what happens now."

Without being ordered, she came to his side. He took his time tucking her skirt up, pulling down her knickers and gently guiding her over. She was stiff with apprehension; he tapped her lightly. "I'd try to relax—hurts much worse if you tense up."

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP**

(**OWWWWWWWWW**!)

"This is what naughty little girls get."

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP**

"They get their bums bared and then whacked a nice, hot red, and they're very sore for days and days, aren't they?"

(**AIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESORRRRYYNOOOMOORRREEE**)

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP**

"You'll know better than to ever, ever behave this way again by the time I'm done with you. Don't bother apologizing, either. You're like the gnome that isn't sorry he stole the widow's apples but is very sorry she's hexed him."

(**PLLLLEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAASSEEEE**)

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP**

"I warned you not to disobey me and you did it anyway, so it's no one's fault but yours that you're getting smacked over my knee."

(**ITHUUURRRTTTTSSSS**)

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP**

"That's right, you just think about how you look like right now, all red faced and crying with your bum in the air. Sixteen years old and still needs a sore backside to get her to behave."

(**ITBUURRNNNNNNSSSSS**)

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP**

"That arse is glowing, Hermione, but I'm going to punish you until I think you've learned your lesson. Maybe some time kicking and howling like the bad little girl you've been will encourage you to remember to listen."

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP**

(**OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW**)

He stopped. Granger bucked, sobbing, for a few seconds more and then, abruptly, stopped. Malfoy rested a hand lightly on one burning thigh, feeling more clear headed than he has since this whole nightmare started. Still, he couldn't help but feel uneasy; Granger was clearly having some kind of problem, and it would probably mean tedious conversation of some sort. She might even want to be hugged ( which she certainly wouldn't be, although if she's very good he might pat her back once or twice.)

Hermione found herself abruptly brought back to Earth. The comforting sense of non-focus, of not needing to concentrate on anything except what was happening behind her, was yanked away with the suddenness of a lightning strike. She stopped crying and lay still, confused. Malfoy's hand was resting on her leg, very cold. He pushed her off lightly, careful to steady her lest she fell.

"Look at you. Just a sorry little girl, aren't you?"

"No." She was tired, out of sorts and feeling strangely…cheated? No time to think about it now. She shook her head. "I'm sorry your father is in prison, Malfoy, but it's not my fault. Please, I just want to go back and sleep."

For the first time in years, maybe ever, Draco was literally speechless. He took a deep breath and counted to ten. The twenty. Then fifty. "Go to your corner, Hermione. Right now."

She shook her head. "I can't imagine what you're feeling right now, but I don't think hitting me will make it better."

His hands were trembling. It would be so stupidly easy to hurt her, Oath be damned. He pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. "Granger. Corner. Now." Her eyes were very large and very dark, shadowed with fatigue. She turned and found the corner, pressed her face into it and smelled the sweet bees-wax and the good smell of old, well kept wood.

Draco sat down, shivering a little. Who did she think she was, talking to him that way? He had half a mind to—what? What could he do, what could possibly make her feel even a little of what he was feeling? He did not—could not—credit that simple empathy had done that already as best it could. That she would love the muggle filth that had spawned her crossed his mind in only the most rudimentary of ways—that she would have feelings nearly identical to the ones he had for Lucius and Narcissa was absurd.

Even in this state, his erection had not subsided. He had truly not meant for it be a sex thing ( it's _not, _he half whined to himself), but he'd gotten aroused anyway. Naturally, this state of things did nothing to sweeten his temper; he strode from the room and only just made the bathroom before nature took her course. Afterword he felt dirty and ashamed of himself—not only had he nearly lost control, he shouldn't feel good while Father could only feel miserable.

He stopped and pondered this. Was it disloyal—unfilial, even—for him to feel the pleasures of the flesh at this point? No, he finally decided, it was not. Nothing was more important than the Cause, or else Father would not have fought for it. Since his plan with Granger could only aid the Cause, and he himself could do nothing at the nonce, the best course—the only proper course—was for him to continue on. It was his duty as a good, obedient son. Father would understand; Draco had utter, perfect faith that Father loved him no matter what, because that's what he felt for Lucius. And he was quite right; one of Lucius' few redeeming features was his total love and devotion towards his wife and son.

Resolved anew, he washed his hands and ventured toward the library feeling righteous. There was nothing he would not do for the Cause, and right now that meant giving a certain mudblood a lesson she'd never forget.

Hermione wavered a little on her feet. Her backside was burning but she didn't dare rub—in his current mood, Malfoy could do anything. She stayed as still as she could, hardly daring to breathe. When he came back he entered softly, almost silently, and sighed as though he bore all the darkness of that night within himself. Perhaps he did. He called her over and anxiously she came.

"I'm not going to hurt you, so stop looking at me like a scared kitten, would you?"

"I'm not afraid." Even as she spoke she knew it was true. The moment he might have hurt her was past and Malfoy was calm again. His calm held its own dangers, but she felt up to it. She felt up to anything except the possibility that he would leave her mired in her guilt and horror, unable to sick up the feelings that were eating into her peace of mind.

"You ought to be.' He laughed bitterly 'I would be, if I were you."

"I'm not afraid _here_."

He understood the compliment and nodded, once, to acknowledge it, and studied the floor a moment for dramatic emphasis.

"Well, my girl, what shall we do with you? You know that was unacceptable."

"Yes, sir."

They were both sliding back into their roles, as thought the past ten minutes had not happened. Her hand drifted back to rub absentmindedly, and Draco was glad of an opportunity to rebuke her. "Ah ah ah, no rubbing."

The hand dropped and she blushed, looking at her shoes. She hated the easy reactions he could evoke with a few well chosen words; hated he knew her buttons this well. She restrained an urge to nibble her cuticle.

"You're looking rather peaked, my girl; a walk would do us both some good. Wrist." She held out her hand and he clamped down almost hard enough to hurt. A short walk ( well, dragging) later they were outside. There was a copse of little trees and Draco compelled his pet toward them."Normally I'd let you choose, but your behavior tonight makes me think you can't be a big girl about it, so I'm going to choose a nice long one and then use it on you."

He was as good as his word and better. Feeling better than he had in days, he walked them back, purposefully clutching the switch. Granger wasn't fighting him, of course; he had an idea she was near paralyzed with fear at the thought of being switched.

He couldn't blame her, really; anything that brought him that much pleasure needs must be bad for Granger. He wondered if he could register that theorem ( Malfoy's Law?) with the Ministry. Thought of the Ministry wiped the smile from his face, but he imagined a good session of whacking his toy would put him in proper form again.

The soothing darkness of Malfoy manor calmed him as it always did. It even smelled just right; the faint perfume his mother used to scent the house, the bees wax that made the walls and furniture gleam so mellowly, the faint warm scent of something baking in the kitchens. A cramp of nostalgia, painful and sweet, hit him and he pushed it away. Not now.

He arranged the chaise longue just as he had before, making sure It was well padded. The tin of ointment sat on a low table and he picked it up. "Go over, Hermione. Hands at shoulder height on the daybed, and shoes off." He didn't want to risk getting kicked. He stuck his pet and thoroughly salved her, feeling the heat and pleased by it.

He raised his hand and smacked her left sit spot three times. "That's for using my name, little girl.' He smacked the right. 'Symmetry."

He moved into place and tapped her twice with the switch. "You may kick, Hermione, and cry, of course, but I expect you to take your punishment like a big girl. No begging or trying to wiggle out of it, understood?"

She nods as bravely as she can. "Yes, sir."

"There's the good girl. Brace yourself."

She heard it slice through the air. Then it hit her and a second later the place erupted in a horrible fiery sting; she felt a welt rise and then sink back into her flesh, leaving only a ghostly dark pink line. "**OWWWWWW**!"

"Doesn't feel very nice, does it Hermione? Maybe next time we won't have to do this." Knowing full well he' d do it regardless, or something similar, because he had given in the pleasure and it was building under his skin like light.

**SWISH  
SWISH  
SWISH  
SWISH  
SWISH  
SWISH**

Hermione howled as the switch descended over and over. Malfoy was careful to space the stripes so they don't cross; he wanted her alert enough to answer questions if he needed her to. The needs of her body had overcome those of her mind and she met the pain with acceptance, almost joy. Here there is no thought; here there is need, and desire, and they share it together. That's all that matters now, as he beat her and she gave into it. Need. Desire. And pain. Oh God, is there ever pain.

Malfoy listens to her perform for him. He didn't realize he was weeping until he felt a tear hit his jumper and soak in. He raised a hand to his face. The skin was damp under the pads of his fingers, and somehow the whole awful weight of the thing crashed down. He sat beside his writhing, yowling pet and dropped his head into his hands.

Hermione knew something was wrong. After the pain died down she cautiously put her head up. "M-Malfoy? Sir?"

"You put your head back down or I'll take the hide off of you."

She obeyed, feeling unwelcome pity worming it's way inside her. She could feel him shaking with silent sobs, never touching her. Her hatred of him tried feebly to assert itself but was crushed by the same empathy that Draco dismissed in her. It's harder to hate someone when they're crying because they miss their father.

Draco pulled himself together. His emotions tended to be brief but intense, but now that the storm had passed he felt he could go on. Granger's eyes were closed, perhaps asleep. He reached out and traced a welt with his fingertip. She groaned.

"Thought you'd be getting off light, did you? Fat chance of that. No, my girl, I intend to make sure you sit funny for a least a week. How long did the last one take to cool down?"

"Four days, sir."

"Not bad. I think the rest of your punishment will be here' he traced a nail over the sensitive crease between bottom and thigh 'and here." And patted her thigh. She whimpered, trying to not squirm lest she be punished for it."

"Oh no, please not there. We're leaving tomorrow."

"Of course we are, and a long bumpy train ride sitting on a well striped arse is just what you need. I'm tempted to send a note to your parents, suggesting they give you a good whacking every so often to keep you in line."

"Malfoy! You wouldn't!"

He swatted her arse, eliciting a nice loud whine. "Warned you about my name, little girl. That's three extra' he patted her sit spot 'right there. And don't be so sure. It would make it a damned sight easier for me if they kept up with this all summer. You'll come back full of naughtiness and cheek, else."

"I never!"

"Not after tonight, to be sure. All right, enough chit chat."

He moved her forward, stretching her just a little so he wouldn't inadvertently hit anything untoward. She whined again, resigned yet very unhappy. Draco surveyed his toy, his little pet, and felt a great peace.

**SWISH**

**SWISH**

**SWISH**

**SWISH** He moved to her thighs

**SWISH**

**SWISH**

**SWISH**

Malfoy set the switch down beside her and bent to look at her face. She cringed, still bawling, and he waited a bit before he talked.

"Well, my girl, how does that feel? Have you been punished enough?"

"No!" She didn't mean to say it. But she also didn't want to leave it like this. She was closer to the edge than she had been when he stopped smacking her ( smart though she was, Hermione didn't make the connection between her outburst and the fact the smacking had stopped) but she craved that peaceful place of release and calm.

"You really are mad, Granger."

"Please! I need—I have to—I just feel so bad!"

Malfoy sighed heavily. "I can't. If I hit you much more, I might hurt you."

"Don't care! Please!"

The irony of having her beg for punishment was not lost on Draco. It certainly didn't help with the massive erection he was currently contending with. He sighed again, not least with regret and made himself consider the big picture.

"Not right now, Hermione. We're going to eat and then you're having a bath. Your hair is filthy."

She started to protest and he shushed her with a firm pat. " We aren't done, just taking a break. Come along."

He put her in the corner while he summoned an elf. The elf brought them a tureen of soup left over from supper and some warm bread, along with cold pumpkin juice. Draco brought the tray into the dining room. They ate in silence, she standing up. He refilled her bowl twice and her goblet three times, and she ate what she was given without comment.

Then he led her upstairs and deposited her at the door of the bathroom with instructions to bathe and wash her hair. The bathroom was beautiful, all white onyx, and the tub deep and brimming with fluffy bubbles. She stripped and climbed in, hissing with pain as her scalded arse touched the water, and again as it hit the bottom of the tub.

She would have fallen asleep if Malfoy hadn't knocked. "It you aren't out in twenty minutes I'm coming in and bathing you myself."

That was far worse than a mere whacking, so she quickly washed her hair with the shampoo and got out. She had to admit, a meal and bath had done her a world of good. The sink was littered with potions, and she rubbed the one marked 'skin' into hers and was rewarded with baby smooth limbs that smelled faintly floral and very, very expensive, like the perfume her mother wore to go out in.

The house had even provided her with clothing. She realized with embarrassment that it was a nightdress, but logic spoke up. 'He's seen you half naked how many times, but you're ashamed for him to see you in a nighty?' It was really very modest, she desperately assured herself, and taking a deep breath, crossed the hall and knocked on the door.

"Enter."

Unbeknownst to Hermione, the gown was having a totally opposite effect on Malfoy. Floor length, made of fine linen and tastefully decorated with soft lace, to his Pureblood eyes it was as alluring as lingerie to a muggle man. In it, with her damp hair and sweet floral smell, she was a gift, a package begging to be unwrapped. He sat up and put down the Quididitch magazine he'd been idly paging through.

"Not bad, Granger. Isn't it pleasant not to look like a starveling for a change?"

She blushed. "It's very nice."

She really did smell divine. Much better than the usual muggle stuff she wore, which Draco considered hardly fit for a common whore, let alone the…whatever she was…of a Malfoy. He wished she looked and smelled this good all the time.

As soon as she was in range, Draco grabbed her arm and flipped her over his lap. Raising the hem of her gown, he brought his hand down hard.

"Owwww! Owwwww!" It was horrid! Her skin was burning! Her stripes were on fire anew!

"You wanted it. I was going to stop."

"NO! Please no more! Owwww!"

"Good try. I decide when you've had enough, my girl, and since you insisted'

"Pleeassee! Burrrns!"

'It seems only gentlemanly to oblige."

"Sorrryy! Owwwwwww!"

The shock and terrible pain were enough, finally. Sobbing, she went totally limp and Malfoy stopped at once. She buried her face in the soft velvet bedspread and wailed, free to let the pent up fear and anger out at last. She cried without restraint for fifteen endless minutes, and finally she stopped, well and truly worn out.

Draco had no idea what to do. He pulled his knees to his chest and watched, horrified and fascinated, while she let loose. Whatever she'd seen must have been really hideous, he abruptly thought. He found himself quite angry at Potter; how dare Scar Head upset Draco's pet so seriously? He'd never get her calm again at this rate.

Blinking, she sat up, wondering where the bed she was to sleep in was. The one they were sitting in massive, carved of gorgeous teak, clearly very old. It could easily accomodate several people. She looked around.

"Get under the covers, Granger. You're going to sleep."

"Where?"

"Here. It's big enough for two."

She froze. He couldn't mean---

"Don't flatter yourself. I just don't feel like making a separate bed, that's all."

She obeyed, lying on her side and breathing in the sweet smell of scented linen. The lights were very dim. Malfoy was mercifully sitting atop the covers, but she was conscious of his body heat along her back. Exhaustion won in the end; she closed her eyes and sleep took her gently and carried her away.

Draco waited until she was asleep to change and set the alarm. He slid under the covers, aware this was madness and not caring. He had no intention of doing anything dishonorable; as unfathomable as Draco's moral code was to most people, he drew the line at ruining Granger. He would have her pain and her obedience because they were hers to give, but a girl's virtue belonged to her family. He had too much respect for tradition to transgress that boundary.

Still, he could indulge a bit. He found himself wondering again what it be like to feel her against him, feel her burning backside against his body and know he'd done it, savor the manifestation of his control over his pet. He rolled and spooned her, knowing she slept heavily and would not wake.

It was a good as he'd hoped, as good as he'd fear it would be. He thought a bit about his parents, desperate to see his mother again, wishing he could tell her about the clever plan he'd devised. They'd be so pleased with him for his skill and cunning. They would never accept her as an equal, of course, but as a gift from the Dark Lord? He was confident with the confidence of one who's never been seriously thwarted.

She was so warm. Draco wouldn't admit that he felt comforted by her presence, or that he'd refused to make another bed because he couldn't bear to be alone tonight. His arm locked around her waist possessively and he closed his eyes. If nothing else, she'd learned damned well and certain what happened when she meddled. A start. A small start. Draco Malfoy closed his eyes and went to sleep.

When the left the next morning, they were still being watched from the shadows. The watcher noticed the Granger girl was walking strangely and felt concerned. Had Malfoy hurt her? She wasn't acting scared or, more likely, screaming her head off to anyone who'd listen. She seemed fine aside from the slight mince in her gait.

Then she reached back and gave herself a quick, gentle rub on the backside, wincing ever so slightly. Malfoy saw and frowned pointedly. Blushing, she apologized and dropped her hand to her side. Severus Snape's eyebrows nearly met his hairline. Whatever he'd been expecting, that hadn't been it. He smiled slightly. "That explains why she's been so fidgety in class."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N**: **Love to all reviewers.**

*** This passage was taken from "The Whole Duty of Woman" a conduct book from the 19th century. Obviously, I changed some of the contents to reflect the magical world.**

**The part recited by Hermione was of my own divising, though influenced by the many conduct books I've read over the years (history is my other hobby).**

**I don't need to say that I think the things Malfoy says to Hermione are repulsive nonsense, do I? Because I do, and they are.**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco shivered. It was cold in the Carrow's place. Beside him, his mad aunt blinked and twitched a little, waiting for the Dark Lord to appear. She caught his gaze and glared furiously. "Eyes to the front, you miserable whelp."

"My blood's as pure as yours, _Aunt_."

She sneered and said nothing. He'd only know Bellatrix a few weeks and he hated her profoundly; fortunately she seemed to hate him back. It might have been awkward had she felt some affection for him which he did not reciprocate. Draco's sense of social niceities was exquisitely tuned, and he understood inherently how messy that sort of thing could become.

The Dark Lord swept in and they bowed as one. His new Mark was throbbing on his arm and his hand went there, knowing he could not calm it away and compelled to try. The Dark Lord radiated such power that Draco always felt muffled in his presence, as though the puissance emanating from his new master smothered all other lights.

"Draco, come forward. I would have a word."

"I am honored, my Lord."

The Dark Lord took Draco's arm and led him into the library. The door closed behind them, the latch clicking into the hasp with the same finality as the end of a death watch. In the parlor, Narcissa Malfoy hugged herself and prayed.

"His mudblood friend, you say?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Since December?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort nodded slowly. "Excellent, Draco. I have every confidence in your ability, and the girl ought to prove an invaluable source. What have you been doing at these little study sessions?"

"Trying to get information, my Lord."

"Clearly. May I ask how?"

Draco dropped his head, unsure. He couldn't say because it would break the Oath, freeing his toy; neither could he refuse to answer the Dark Lord. An icy hand locked under his chin and his head jerked up in time for him to hear the Dark Lord's cold, clear 'legilimens'.

Imagines spewed from his mind like a lanced boil. He squirmed, mortified beyond belief, as the Dark Lord saw every detail of what had gone on between Granger and himself. Tear started in his eyes and he sternly held them back; crying before the Dark Lord was all but a death sentence.

"Very good, Draco. Tell me, have you deflowered her yet?"

Draco flushed and shook his head. He didn't know what deflowered was, precisely, but he was sure he hadn't done it to Granger. He'd heard that word once and asked his father; Lucius had looked uncomfortable and murmured something about lying atop a woman and ruining her. He'd never lain atop Granger, ergo she was un-ruined and un-deflowered.

The Dark Lord smiled, feasting on his obvious embarrassment. "Why ever not?"

"My Lord?"

"I asked you, Draco, why you have not yet deflowered the mudblood."

He blushed even redder. " I wouldn't want to dirty myself, my Lord." He couldn't tell the Dark Lord he had no idea how one went about it, and that he didn't want to, anyway.

Voldemort nodded. "We must all make sacrifices, Draco. It would bind her to you much more tightly."

Draco said nothing. His eyes were fastened on the carpet, color still high.

"I imagine if you succeed at this mission, you'd like a reward."

"Doing your will is reward enough, my Lord."

The Dark Lord smiled again. " Doubtless. Still, I suppose I could spare the girl. She might prove useful to us. And you'll train her properly?"

Draco nodded, conflicting feelings welling in his chest. "Yes, my Lord. I have already noticed an improvement in her deportment and appearance."

The Dark Lord sat down at the desk, signaling that the audience was almost over. "I hope for your sake, Draco, you are right. About everything." He opened a desk drawer and rattled about, and Draco bowed his way from the room. For better or worse, the course was chartered now.

He should have felt elated, proud, chosen. But he didn't. All Draco felt was fear.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione spent the summer mainly in the wizarding world, preparing for the war that was sure to come. In August she got a letter from her Mum, telling them her Nan was declining rapidly. She Flooed home and they drove to Bromsgrove knowing it was to say goodbye. Nan was sitting up in bed, elegant in a deep rose colored bed jacket, hair perfect because she charmed the nurse into helping her every day. She smelled of face powder and Je Reviens and lipstick, Hermione noticed as she held the birdy little form her to heart.

"There's my best girl. How are you, poppet?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Fine, Nan."

Her Nan cocked her head. "Something is different. You sound older."

" I turn Seventeen in September. But how are you? I've missed you."

"Tired, darling. I can't wait to see dear Alec again."

"Oh, Nan, no! You'll bounce right back."

Her grandmother shook her head. "I dream of him at night, just as I did when we were engaged and he was fighting in France. You'll see someday, darling, what it's like to love someone so. Your Granddad was--" She abruptly stopped, and Hermione reminded herself that Nan had had a series of strokes and was therefore liable to forget, and fall asleep with no warning. She rose to go.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Nan?" she turned back. Nan's head was still down, her eyes shut.

"Who is he?"

"Who?"

"The boy. Don't try to deny it. It's in your face." Her Nan smiled. Hermione shook her head, wondering what else her grandmother had seen. She sat down again very abruptly, as though her legs were made of paper.

"Someone at school but we aren't--" she couldn't tell. She couldn't. "He isn't suitable, Nan."

"That's all right. If he makes you happy, that's what important." Her grandmother reached up and unerringly unclasped the chain at her throat. "I want you to have this."

"Oh, Nan." She opened the locket and her Granddad was staring back at her, a cocky grin on his face, cap at a rakish angle, his eye patch giving him a pleasantly piratical air.

"There's an empty side. Put your sweetheart in it, Hermione, like I did. So you'll always remember what it was like to be young, and to feel as you do." The old woman's eyes were sliding shut. She lay back and sighed deeply. "It was so good."

Her Nan died three days later. At the funeral she clutched the locket in her hand. The priest spoke at length about the consolations of Eternity, the joy at seeing loved ones again. School was starting soon, she realized abruptly. Joy or no joy, she would see Malfoy again. Hermione shivered. She felt afraid, though afraid of what she could not say.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They met in silence and went inside in silence, though each longed in their own way to confide in the other. Draco wanted to warn Granger about the dangers that could befall her if she should fail, even for a moment, to be cautious. He'd had a nasty run in with Potter, and hoped devoutly that the idiot would get himself killed so he couldn't do anything stupid involving Draco's pet.

Hermione wanted to ask Malfoy what exactly they were to one another; the conversation with her grandmother had started her mind going. She did not love him, but after their last few run ins, she could admit that his attentions improved her life to an extent. They weren't friends and they weren't lovers, but in here they weren't precisely enemies, either. She kept her tongue, afraid of what the answer might be. She perceived a change in him that was disquieting, though what it was she could not say.

Draco appraised his pet. Her hair was down but neatly combed, her clothes pressed. He seized a hand and inspected the cuticles. They were closed, and the salve had left a tell tale tint on the nails, a barely perceptible stain. He nodded.

" How was your summer?"

"Not very good. Yours?"

"As good as could be expected." He looked at her defiantly, almost daring her to contradict him. She said nothing, only sighed. He caught a glimpse of gold at her neckline and tugged gently at the chain, surprised by the weight of whatever it was.

Hermione almost stiffened. Almost. But she knew he wouldn't hurt it, the same way she knew he wouldn't hurt her. Malfoy was strange about things like that. He took the locket in his hand and thumbed the catch off, studied the picture intently for a moment.

"Your father?"

"Grandfather."

Draco let it rest against her neck again. He supposed she could wear it for now, though once he owned her he would take it. It wasn't awful but it also wasn't particularly nice, just gold with a bit of scrollwork and enamel. Only the best would do, so it would have to go. He'd replace it with something to remind her of her place, a jewel studded exhortation to obedience and respect.

Pleased with this line of thought, Malfoy took her arm to lead her deeper into the house. She followed him, if not gladly, then with gracious resignation. It was the manor again, and their feet made scant noise on the heavy carpeting. The air was sweet with the smell of roses, and Hermione was painfully reminded of her mother. She blinked, unaware that Malfoy was having the same problem (Narcissa's roses were the pride of their gardens). They made their way to the library and sat down on one of the settees.

"I don't know about you, but I could do with a snack. Look at this one while I call an elf." He pressed a tome into her hands and went to call the imbecilic Nippy to bring them food. Hermione obediently opened the book and read a bit. He was back within a few minutes and found Granger chuckling as she read.

"What's funny?"

She grinned. "This." She held the book up and Malfoy frowned. He'd given her a very old conduct book which was still the wizarding gold standard of female conduct, and expected it would be a good start for her continuing education at his hands.

Granger opened it to a random page and read aloud: "It is not for thee, O woman, to undergo the perils of magickal exploration, to search fearlessly with Arithmancy the future or to number the thick stars or the heavens . . .Thy kingdom is thine own house and thy government the care of thy family."*

"What's funny about that? It's true, isn't it?"

Hermione blinked. "Of course not."

Draco inhaled. "You were raised by muggles, Granger. I wouldn't expect you to understand at first. This is how proper wizarding families live. The father goes to work and the mother runs the house and manages the elves."

Hermione struggled not to laugh. "In this day and age? That's dreadful."

He raised his eyebrows. "What's dreadful about it? Women need to be protected and cared for, and men need women to keep everything in proper order. Surely you see the sense in that?"

She shook her head. "Not all women want that. My Dad likes that my Mum works."

"They're muggles, Granger, they aren't like us. Witches are far too sensitive and delicate to work for any real length of time, and men would rather deal with other men anyway. Besides, mothers who stress themselves too much give birth to squibs."

"You don't believe that." She tried to sound confident but looking at him she knew it was true for him; he sincerely believed what he was saying. He looked at her almost pityingly, as though to a slow child, and said "Of course I do. It's a proven fact."

She shook her head and determined that now would be a good time to end the conversation. Striving to keep her voice light, she said "When did the elf say the food will be here?"

"Oh, about fifteen minutes. Keep reading, there will be an oral exam to make sure you're paying attention."

Hermione eyes him levelly. "Malfoy, be fair. I wouldn't make you read something you find offensive."

He shrugged. "I can smack you now and then you can read. Or you can just read, and say your lesson like a good girl. Your call."

Feeling this terribly unfair, Hermione never the less decided that discretion was the better half of valor when it came to the Ferret, and took up the odious book, stopping occasionally to shake her head at some ludicrous point or other.

Finally the elf arrived, and Malfoy sent it on its way with a cuff to the ear. He carried the tray, laden with food, into the dining room. The table was set with a minimum of formality ( he thought it best to ease her into things slowly) , shining with crystal and sterling cutlery. He directed her to sit at his right as he took his place at the head, as solemn and self aware as children playing grown up.

"Of course, the elves usually serve, but I don't trust that Nippy. Strikes me as sly, somehow."

"Nippy? I've spoken to her several times and she's always been very polite."

Malfoy made a delicate little moue of distaste with his mouth. "You've _spoken_ to it? As in had actual conversations?"

"Yes. I tried to get her to take one of the hats I made, but she kept refusing. I can't understand why she didn't want one, but…' Granger sighed to herself and shrugged. 'I suppose we must allow others to make up their own minds about things." She sighed again, apparently lamenting the elf's stubborn refusal to be liberated.

Draco shook his head in disgust. "Merlin, Granger. Why don't you ask it to sit and eat with you?"

"I tried. None of the elves would do it."

"Of course they wouldn't. They know their place in things and respect it."

Hermione could sense they were in dangerous waters. "That's just it, though. There's no reason they should be slaves just because it's tradition."

Draco put down the serving spoon. "Is this a joke?"

"Of course not."

Draco handed her a plate with cold chicken and turnips. Hermione didn't really care for turnips but she sensed this was a bad time, and decided to choke them down as quickly as she could and simply not say anything. Picking up her fork, she made herself take a bite before she finished her point.

"They're sentient creatures, Malfoy. Surely you don't think they could really be happy this way?"

Draco huffed. "There's more to life than happiness. They're like children, Granger, idiot children with strong magic and no sense of how and when to use it. They're happiest when they have someone to care for them and tell them what to do."

"Like witches?" She raised her eyebrow at him in conscious imitation of the look he made when he was subtly ridiculing her argument. Malfoy glowered, thinking that look was entirely too effective for his liking, at least when Granger was doing it.

"I wouldn't have been so ill-bred as to say it, but yes. You'd be happier if you'd obey like you should, not to mention causing much less trouble for those around you."

She looked ready to argue more but he held up a hand. "This is not a suitable conversation to have while we're eating. Clean your plate."

They ate in loaded silence, Hermione making herself finish the hated turnips and Draco watching with real satisfaction as she did it. He could tell she didn't like them from the way she looked at them; mused that it was funny someone who tried as hard as Granger to project an air of maturity should act so childish about eating healthy foods and getting adequate sleep.

Finally they were done and he sent her into the library. She picked up the book and paged idly through, looking at the illustrations of the various ways to walk, sit and stand. Stupidity, Hermione thought, meaningless nonsense.

Draco closed the door behind himself with a firm click. His toy jumped slightly, slammed the book shut, half embarrassed and half defiant to have been caught looking. He smirked, secretly very pleased. Her curiosity, he'd found, properly played to, would do much of the work. All he needed to do was give her a little nudge in the right direction.

Malfoy settled on the settee and gestured her to stand in front of him, hands behind her back. Hermione hated this position; it made her feel exposed and childish, as though he were really hearing her lessons and not playacting. She made herself stand a little straighter and look him in the eye.

"What is your first duty?"

""The first duty of a woman is obedience to her elders and betters. She must be sweet, humble, modest, and demure, avoiding all actions which are not suitable. She must be soft spoken, gentle and kind to those around her, especially her house elves and the many lesser wizards and witches with whom she might, in the course of her duties, be obliged to speak with. She must give voice to no thought which is displeasing to those around her, nor make any motion which is not elegant, necessary and proper."

Draco blinked, unprepared for the surge of information. "Well done. What does it mean?"

"I already said."

"Don't take that tone with me, my girl. I mean, can you give me an example?"

"Obeying one's teachers."

He smiled. "Just so."

Hermione felt herself paling a bit. She could tell he had something really nasty in mind and braced for the very worst. He eyed her a long moment, considering.

"Upstairs with you, little madam, and have a seat on the vanity chair. I'll be up directly."

To be pleasant surprise, the vanity was nicely stocked. Hermione had no real interest in cosmetics and beauty potions but she did like to explore, and she spent an enjoyable few moments poking about, smelling the perfumes and cautiously opening the boxes of makeup.

She heard Malfoy before she saw him. He stopped to grab the brush off the dresser and came up behind her. "Relax, Hermione. I only want to brush your hair." He carefully drew the mass of curls back and began to brush, watching her watch him in the mirror. Her eyes were unreadable, dark with something that might have been desire, or repulsion, or any combination of the two.

He'd missed this. Here, in the illusionary security of Hogwarts, Draco could admit to himself that being a Death Eater was not all it was cracked up to be. In fact, he hated it. The Dark Lord struck him less as the leader of a glorious revolution and more as a petty tyrant, a frighteningly volatile bully. His fellows were back biting and cruel, especially the inner circle. His aunt and uncle terrified him. And while the Dark Lord had not said so, Draco understood implicitly that the price of failure in killing Dumbledore was his parents' lives.

Moreover, that interview with the Dark Lord made him feel…funny. They knowing, cynically amused look on his Lordship's face when it came to Granger had made his skin crawl. He'd felt dirty after, as though sharing his mind with his master left his thoughts coated in grease. Without meaning to, his hand tightened a little on his pet's shoulder. He shoved his mutinous thoughts away and concentrated on Granger and her hair; everything would be fine. It would have to be.

Hermione leant a little into the hold on her shoulder. She shut her eyes and breathed deeply, savoring the sensation of the bristles gently stroking her scalp. Malfoy tipped her head forward and she obliged, shivering a little when his finger grazed the tender nape of her neck. It struck her suddenly that, for all the times he had seen her half naked, this felt far more intimate. He gathered the hair into a pony tail and tied it off. His hand was still on her shoulder.

"Trade places with me, Hermione." She stood, very relaxed, and watched as he sat on the little armless chair, noticing he sat facing out and feeling some of her calm sliding away. She took a step back involuntarily and he smirked.

"And now we see how well she's learned her lesson. Come here, Hermione, you're going to be punished."

She took another step. "But I haven't done anything!" Hermione hated the way her voice went up at the end, almost like a whine. She made herself stop walking and stand her ground. Malfoy just smirked wider.

"I find that hard to believe, little girl. You mean to tell me you didn't do a single naughty thing all summer long?"

She looked at her hands. "I suppose I did a few things, but I haven't done anything tonight."

"You aren't cooperating right now. That's rather naughty, especially considering that your lesson was about the importance of obedience. And we've talked about occasional unearned whackings. Maintenance, remember?"

"Malfoy, be fair. I learned the lesson you gave me, and--"

He shook his head. "Did you? I don't notice you've applied it very well. Or did I miss the part where the author said whinging and throwing fits was an acceptable alternative?" He stood and calmly grasped her by the wrist and tugged her over.

She was turned up in a trice, skirt tucked into her waistband, Malfoy's hand cracking against her arse. Hermione squirmed, yelping whenever a slap landed on a particularly sensitive place. It really hurt! She'd forgotten how much his hand could burn and sting, especially when he was annoyed with her. She kicked a little, wiggling into his torso without quite meaning to, unconsciously comforted by his warm body under hers.

Draco stopped long enough to work her knickers down. She was still struggling but the effect was actually a little funny; Draco considered it a moral victory if he could evoke this kind of reaction from his pet. He pulled the garment to her knees and swatted a thigh to get her attention.

"You see, I was right."

"Oww! Right about what?"

"I told you you'd come back full of bad behavior and sauce, and you've proven my point. You need to be whacked very regularly or else you revert to your bad habits. I shall have to send a note home to your parents for Christmas break."

"Malfoy! (Too hard!) You wouldn't!"

"You keep saying that as though you think it will stop me. Why shouldn't I? It makes you much easier to live with."

"That's not funny ( Not there! Oww!) !"

"I quite agree. I'm sure they'd want to do what's best for you. And what's best is making sure you go to sleep with a glowing red arse a few nights a week. Ah ah ah, move that hand!"

"It's not!"

"Not in the way? Yes, it was. I've pinned it for you, it shan't happen again."

"No! (pleeaaseestop) Not for the best (owwww)!"

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Mmm-mmm, we've forgotten our manners too. I think a good long time sitting on the corner stool ought to help with that."

Hermione kicked harder. "No no please no stool I'll be good let me up I'm sorry!"

Draco smothered a laugh. Gryffindor's genius, the holder of the House brain cell, reduced to a pleading, kicking child draped arse up over his knee. He shifted her and began to heat the tender under curve, pleased when she howled and bucked as though she were being killed.

He gave a gusty pretend sigh. "You're just a naughty little girl who needs a good, hard smacking on your bare bum whenever you misbehave, aren't you? Yes, you are, now lay still and let me finish paddling you."

Hermione's cringed at his words even as she sobbed with pain and embarrassment. Naughty little girl, indeed! She'd give him a piece of her mind fit to choke a giant just as soon as he let her up. She tried to make herself lay still and stop kicking, but it was a doomed fight and a minute more found her bawling incoherently, totally out of her own control. Her head dropped and he gave her one last tremendous whack and then sat still.

"Do try to calm down, Hermione, it was only a little smacking. That's enough now, no more fussing. You'll want to save that for later, my girl; you have an appointment with the slipper."

Hermione cried harder at the news, not wanting anything to add to the burning in her backside, but she knew protests were futile. Instead, she debated punching him in the knee and decided regretfully it was a bad idea. She felt him lift her under the arms and he stood a second later, leading her to the huge bed. She pulled away, and Malfoy said impatiently " It's not what you think, now come along."

A moment later he was resting comfortably against a huge mound of pillows, paging through his vile book of torments, and she was over his lap again. Skirt still tucked up, knickers at half mast, she lay exposed while he casually ignored her, sometimes using her as a table to rest his book on.

"Malfoy?"

"I can't hear you, Hermione, you'll need to ask properly."

"Sir?"

"Yes?" He rested the book at the small of her back and gently moved her pony tail, a little ragged now, out of the way. His finger drifted down her spine, evoking another shiver that was pleasurable in ways Draco didn't want to name. He had a sudden urge to cup her burning flesh in his hand and make her gasp, though with pain or pleasure did not bear thinking about.

"May I get up now?"

"You certainly may not. You're in' he flipped through the book, grumbling to himself about the added effort ' something called a time-out, apparently."

Hermione huffed. " Time-out? Am I six? Seriously, Malfoy, this is absurd."

Malfoy fetched her a hard swat on her stinging left sit spot, producing a lovely yelp. " Judging by the way you've acted, it's hard to say. This seemed very effective last time in helping you change your attitude. I see no reason not to go with what works."

"It's barbaric, not to mention silly. I really didn't do anything wrong."

"I'll be the judge of that. We both know you did all sorts of things over the summer that you got clean away with. Didn't you?" He ran a finger down her burning thigh.

She hissed. "Not really. I was busy all summer."

"Busy with what?"

" Studying, reading, helping my parents."

"Doing their dirty work, you mean."

She shook her head. "My grandmother was ill."

Malfoy stiffened. Oh no. He could sense a treacherous whirlpool of emotion opening at his feet, the kind that invariably led to excessive female sentiment. Possibly even weeping and clinging; Parkinson excelled at both, and Draco was heartily sick of everything that smacked of either. He decided to choose the lesser of two evils and cautiously said "Oh."

"She's happier now that she's with Granddad."

Oh sweet merciful Merlin, the old girl had died. Malfoy was grateful she couldn't see his pet couldn't see his face. The hand that was resting on her back rose up a few centimeters and hovered awkwardly; finally descending in something was emphatically not a pat. "That's too bad."

Hermione pressed her face into the plush blanket and breathed the sweet smell of the bedclothes. As sad as she was about her Nan, she understood that Malfoy was trying not to be an utter prat about it. 'Why' was another question; she shoved it away and said as politely as she could "Thank you."

It struck Draco as indecent to discuss the dead in this position. He believed, as most of his class believed, that muggles did not have animae like wizards. On the other hand, he'd heard there were muggle buildings with ghosts, and so it seemed to him that the spirits of the muggle dead might well hover about their descendents, even as the wizards and witches of yore did. Was it possible that dozens of filthy muggles were crammed invisibly into the room, watching as he enjoyed the product of their line? He shuddered and silently asked his own ancestors ( whom, he was sure, moved in sedate and orderly fashion, not like the mob of muggle dead) to protect him.

"All right, my girl, up you get. Slipper's in the wardrobe, and look sharp about it." He carefully handed her off, giving the room a quick glance, half convinced he would see buck toothed apparitions in strange muggle dress hovering overhead. Fortunately he did not, and when his pet whined he turned his full attentions to her.

"Please, sir, I'm sorry I didn't cooperate. I don't need a slippering." She looked fetchingly distressed, even dropping her eyes at the end like a properly contrite little girl should. He remembered trying the same thing when he'd been younger and responded exactly the same way his father had.

"Of course you are' he said in a soft, kindly voice that was somehow worse than scolding 'You're sorry I'm angry with you. You're sorry you're to be punished. You're very sorry I've smacked you. But your behavior was unacceptable and we still need to address it. So be a very brave girl and get the slipper, and it will all be over soon."

Hermione actually felt tears sting her eyes. She knew she hadn't done anything wrong, but the tone of voice was brutally kind and understanding. She found she preferred him barking orders and making snide remarks, not acting as though he regretted what he did to her. It changed the nature of the game in a way she wasn't sure she was ready for, or would ever be ready for. Going to the wardrobe, she got the slipper and brought it back, wondering what he was playing at.

Draco was wondering the same thing. He felt pleased his manipulation had worked, but Granger's sudden compliance was worrying. It felt safer to have his toy arguing and being difficult. He didn't want her getting the wrong idea about things, but the pragmatic side of his brain told him firmly that this might be better. After all, one catches more hinkypunks with pumpkin juice than with bat spleen, and if he couldn't deflower Granger right away, he could work on the binding her to him part. She handed him the slipper, still not looking up, and he guided her over and bared her again,

"Now, my girl, if you'd been good then the smacking over your knickers would have ended it. But since you had that little tantrum, it's a slippering on the bare. Perhaps getting your arse stung a few dozen times with the nice hard sole of this slipper will drive your lesson home, hmm?"

He raised the slipper and began her whacking.

**THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK**

**THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK**

**"OWWWWWWIMSORRYNOMOREPLEEAASSEIPROMISEILLBEGOOD!"**

"I agree, you will be good. Unfortunately, you still have plenty more coming, so I'd get comfortable if I were you. I'm going to see to it that your backside doesn't cool down for a long time."

**THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK**

**THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK**

"I've decided that every single time you have a fit, this will be what happens to you. Perhaps the thought of a nice long ride on my lap while I tan you is suitable deterrent. My, look at you squirm! You certainly hate this, don't you?"

**"OWWWWWWWWW YESOWWWNOMORE!"**

"Yes, what, Hermione?"

**"Y'SIR!"**

"Stop kicking, it's time for me to blister where you sit, like it or not."

"**NONONOPLEASESORRYLEARNEDMYLESSON!"**

"Have you? What lesson did you learn?"

" 'bedience! Be obedient!"

"Hmmm, I'm not wholly convinced you really mean that. Think I'll really scald you just to be sure. All right, here it goes."

**THWACK THWACK THWACK! THWACK THWACK THWACK!**

**"AIIEEEEEEEOOOOOWWWWWWWW!PLEEEAASEEE!"**

"Someone's remembered her manners, I see. Stop twisting about, you're just making it harder on yourself. Other side, Hermione."

**THWACK THWACK THWACK! THWACK THWACK THWACK!**

**"OWWWWWWOWWWWWWOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW**!"

"Thighs, and then we're done."

**THWACK THWACK THWACK! THWACK THWACK THWACK**!

She went limp, all the fight having left her as the first burning swat fell on her right thigh. Malfoy sat still for a moment, letting his pet cry into the comforter a few minutes, and then carefully slid a hand under her waist to guide her upright.

"I've got a very sore, hot-bottomed little girl in my lap, don't I? Since you were so good about fetching the slipper, you can rub a bit before your corner time." He set her on her feet and enjoyed the show as his mudblood, still bawling, danced frantically foot to foot, trying to massage the unbearable sting from her backside. His arousal was piqued by the display of totally unself conscious misery, until he knew he had to corner her and tend himself or have an accidental loss of control.

"You know where you're going now."

"No, please, it hurts enough! I'll be so good!"

"I agree, and sitting on that flaming hot arse will remind you of your promise. Go on now, Hermione."

She sobbed as she walked, but walk she did, and plant herself firmly on the stool, howling as her thoroughly punished flesh met the hard seat. He stuck her, still howling and pleading, and left her to think about her throbbing behind as he took care of himself in the bathroom.

He ran the shower very hot, and as it always did these days his mind turned to the other task he had been assigned. His mind was twisting and whirring in a million different directions, all unified by the imperative to success. He leaned his forehead against the cool marble and sighed, smelling the richly scented soap and thinking how grateful he was to have this place as an escape.

Something tickled the back of his brain. This place…he wasn't really in his bathroom at home, was he? Not at all. He was standing in the Room of Requirement. The room which could be anything one wanted…anything at all. Draco laughed aloud with relief and pleasure. Still chuckling, he toweled off, dressed and went to unstuck his toy.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Love to reviewers**

**This chapter got really dark somehow. It contains an enormous amount of Draco-logic, which I've kind of come to enjoy.**

**WARNING: This chapter contains a very nasty intimation about a character who does not and will not appear.**

**A note of clarification: My interpretation of Pureblood culture is a bizarre amalgamation of Rupublican Rome and Victorian England. Therefore, I think it likely that Draco would be only vaguely away of the mechanics of human sexuality. In other words, he knows where babies come from in the most general sense, but the specifics of the act are still a mystery to him. Hence, he is aware that he is capable of 'compromising' Hermione and that it involves a bed, but beyond that...**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With one problem solved, Draco could turn his attention to the rather stickier one of Granger. As much as he insisted piously to himself that he wanted only to obey the Dark Lord, he could not help but feel uneasy at the prospect of doing _that_ with a mudblood. He still wasn't wholly sure what _that _entailed (how could lying atop someone ruin them? He'd fallen atop several of the Slytherin Quidditch players over the years at practice, and they weren't ruined that he could see. Perhaps nakedness helped?), but he was afraid that doing whatever-you call-_that_ with Granger would change things.

And he had an uncomfortable sense he was selling her somehow. On the surface of things, he knew this was absurd. He wasn't selling her; he was claiming his rights. He'd trained her, molded her, given her the discipline she so clearly needed, and thus it was only fitting that he should own her. He did own her, really; being given her as a pet would simply vindicate his hard work. On the other hand, he couldn't shake the feeling of the Dark Lord's eyes on him as he smirked, taking in every prurient detail of the arrangement between Draco and the mudblood.

Whenever Draco thought of it, his stomach roiled. It made him feel…dirty? Well, not quite right to say the least. He felt as though his privacy had been violated. That he himself had once made Hermione feel this way, he spared to that no thought at all.

Problem was, he could see no alternative to doing as the Dark Lord commanded. He felt no guilt at the thought of using her to inadvertently betray her friends. Of course, Granger herself would doubtlessly have raged and refused and been as foolishly noble as she was always was; she would not see, as he could, that she was trading information for the prospect of a safe life under the new regime. And then when it was over, it couldn't be undone. Surely she'd see that and be grateful to be alive?

In his defense, Draco really believed what he was telling himself. It would never occur to him that someone could actually prefer death to turning traitor or that some prices are too high to be paid and still live. And it wasn't as though she'd be put to work scrubbing floors or scouring pans. She would be comfortable, protected, fed and clothed splendidly. The only price would be her obedience. That a life of luxury in return for self respect was no option to someone of her nature also failed occurred to him. These things happen.

The trick was teasing out the things he needed to know without arousing her suspicion. He put his mind to this and decided the subtle approach was best. Of course, 'subtle' is a very relative thing, and if one put all of Draco's subtly into a thimble, there would be room for a grand piano and a large friendly dog alongside it, but one thing Draco Malfoy was not was easily discouraged.

Therefore he took the direct approach. After her punishment he sent her to bathe and anoint herself with the various confusing female potions and phials that appeared in the bathroom. He'd gotten such pleasure out of her freshly washed and perfumed form that he'd decided to repeat the experience as often as possible.

Twenty minutes later she was lying beside him, watching as he read. Having left his Social History downstairs, he was indulging in the kind of novel his mother would have confiscated at once. Granger was quiet but awake. Sighing in annoyance, he folded down his page and turned to her.

"You're supposed to be asleep."

"I'm too tired to sleep."

He snorted. "That's logical."

"Just have a lot on my mind, I guess."

"And you're sure they won't know you're missing?"

"Shouldn't. My dorm mates are used to my coming and going, and the boys are usually in bed before I am."

"Even Potter? I would have thought the great Harry Potter would want to be up and about."

"You shouldn't talk about Harry that way. He's really an excellent friend."

Draco would have bitten out his tongue before he mentioned how badly he'd wanted to be friends with Potter when he was eleven. Potter's rejection had been the first problem he'd ever had that his father couldn't fix, and perhaps some of his hatred stemmed from that. Or, he told himself sharply, perhaps Potter was a snotty, stupid little git with awful taste in friends.

"I'll talk about St. Potter any way I want. Don't get too big for your boots, my girl. The hairbrush is right on the dresser." He glowered at her and she prudently fell silent. Draco pretended to read for a moment.

"So he's being a good boy this year? No midnight voyages?"

Hermione felt a warning tingle. Malfoy was up to something. His deceptively casual mien simply clenched it for her. She sat up and took a swallow of the water that had appeared on the bedside.

"Not that I know of."

"He's gotten really good at Potions, Potter has."

"Slughorn's a good teacher." To Malfoy's amusement, his pet's face pinked a bit at that last. He smirked.

"Yes, and kneazles can fly. Really, that was a sad attempt even for you."

Hermione blushed even darker. "Well, he is. Perhaps not as good as Snape, but good. I mean, even Goyle is doing well."

Draco laughed out loud. "And that proves the point? You could dress the giant squid in a school robe and Slughorn would give it a passing grade."

"Now that's hardly--"

"Slughorn has a vested interest in keeping all the mummies and daddies very, very happy that's he's teaching here. And that means making sure their ickle babies get good grades, doesn't it?"

She blinked. "Well, all the teachers--"

Draco huffed. "Do try to follow, won't you? Slughorn has something of a reputation. Have you ever studied those stupid pictures he keeps?"

"Yes, once or twice. The Slug Club, he calls it."

"Mmm-hmm. And what did we notice, Hermione?" He'd adopted a sing-songy voice like a nursery school teacher. Hermione frowned but put her mind to the task at hand.

"Nothing, I only saw them for a moment."

"Weren't many girls in them, were there? Only boys. And Slughorn himself, of course."

His pet's face went first very red and then a shocking white. Her eyes widened and she sat up straight.

"He's a--"

"Simply notorious. I can't imagine what Dumbledore told the Board. If my father knew about this…" He gestured to indicate the Lucius' wrath would be huge and terrible. Granger wrapped his arms about her knees, wincing with discomfort at the heat in her bum.

"That's dreadful. How could someone even think of doing a thing like that to a child?"

Draco misinterpreted her horror and upset. "Calm down. He won't hurt _you_, he likes them male."

She shivered. "Still, that's just…"

Draco smiled. "He seems awfully interested in Potter, doesn't he?"

Her eyes widened. "You don't think--"

"Goodness, Hermione, I shouldn't think so. Still, it's interesting that he keeps wanting to get Potter alone…if it were me, I'd be careful. Of course, Potter has a taste for danger." He smiled again, envisioning his pet as a fluffy little animal creeping ever closer to the snare, blithely unaware of the hunter crouched nearby.

Suddenly her expression hardened a bit. "Why are you telling me this?"

He almost gave an ill-bred cheer at her distrusting stare. She was finally developing a little cynicism, thank Merlin. All the same he put on his best wounded innocence look. " I enjoy what we do, Granger. Seemed right to help you out. Perhaps keep your precious Potter from being Slughorn's latest conquest."

She fell for it, of course. "Oh. I didn't mean—I hope you—I haven't hurt your feelings, have I?"

He sneered. "Of course not. Go to sleep and stop asking foolish questions."

She rolled over, feeling slightly guilty. Maybe, when you got to know him, Malfoy wasn't such an irredeemable bastard after all. She closed her eyes, tried not to feel his warmth along her spine as he doused the lights and crawled under the covers. He smelled good, something spicy and masculine.

Draco smothered his laughter. Poor predictable Granger! She'd fallen for it, just as he knew she would. She'd duly relay her suspicions to Potter, which would throw a magnificent spanner in his little plans ( for Draco had no doubt there were plans). He couldn't wait to tell the Dark Lord about it.

Granger was squirming. "I really am sorry. I didn't mean to--" She burrowed into the pillows.

Draco's consternation vied with his amusement. Was there really no end to her sentimental foolishness? As much as he wanted to scold her for being soft hearted, he forced himself to follow the plan. There was time enough for correcting her later, time he'd pay for with his self discipline now.

"It's all right. We haven't always been on the best of terms in the past." He reached over and pulled the covers higher on her neck. "Go to sleep, Hermione, like a good little girl."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Things ticked along splendidly once the groundwork was laid. If only his plan to do the thing was going half so smoothly. His trip to Bourgin and Burkes had shown Draco various means by which the deed could be done. His idea in the shower, using the vanishing cabinet, would be his last resort. He had other plans and he began to work on putting them into effect. Slowly, carefully, making sure to tend his other gardens and arouse no suspicions.

Except that Potter was following him. Draco noticed that the bloody prat kept turning up in all sorts of places, to the point when it could not be a coincidence. At first it was slightly diverting; then annoying; then enraging.

He dared not bring it up to his pet. Not yet. By necessity they were meeting less than they had in the past. Hermione was thankful she had so much research to do for Harry; it kept her out of the Tower and the boys felt grateful they didn't have to do it themselves and thus asked no questions.

Malfoy was still making her read the stupid book at least half an hour every time they met, and quizzing her after. As much as she loathed the whole idea, Hermione enjoyed matching wits with Malfoy after each session. She was gradually coming to understand his worldview, and as much as she disagreed, it made understanding the way his brain worked much more easily.

One night, for example, Malfoy rested his face on his hand and said seriously "You know what your trouble is?"

She warily shook her head. "Enlighten me."

"You're too independent. Makes a man feel useless."

She laughed. "I'm sorry. Care to transfigure something into a mouse so I can scream and faint at it?"

"I mean it, Granger. For instance, why don't you ever make the Weasel carry your rucksack?"

"Ron? You want me to ask Ron to carry my books?"

"Not necessarily. All I'm saying is that people would give you more respect if you acted a little more feminine."

She huffed, irritated. "I wouldn't want to depend on someone else that way."

Draco smirked hugely. "Don't you trust him?"

"With my life!"

"But not your books."

"I just don't want to be dependent, that's all."

Draco felt an enormous temptation to push her and see what happened. He tilted his head and studied her just long enough to get her fidgeting.

"You don't have a problem with that when you're here."

Hermione flushed. "That's different. Ron and I aren't--"

"Aren't what?"

"We've been best friends since we were eleven. He's like a brother."

"Brothers take care of little sisters, Granger. Weasley's not done a good job of that with you."

Draco privately considered that Weasely ought to have turned Granger over his knee years ago and taken care of her attitude problem. Potter he could forgive, having been raised by filthy muggles ( the deficiencies in their parenting having become glaringly obvious) but Weasely was a Pureblood and ought to have known better. Then again, his loss was Draco's gain.

"I'm the elder, actually."

Draco ignored this last tidbit. "What it really comes down to, Hermione, is the fact that I can be trusted to make good choices for you and Weasely cannot."

She opened her mouth to protest and Draco shook his head and gestured her to him. "Later, little madam, right now you've a standing date with the palm of my hand."

A few minutes later he was applying that same palm to Granger's backside, feeling contented and lazy as a house cat. His pet was twisting and protesting, trying to fling a hand back to block his shot and crying harder when he pinned it to her back and put his knee up to swat her under curve. In other words, business as usual.

"A little bird told me someone was in the library late last night, Granger. Burning the midnight oil again?"

"Owwww! Y'sir!"

"That's hardly a safe thing to do these days. What were you in there for?"

"Research! Transfiguration! Stopplease!"

"Of course I won't stop. What about transfiguration? That project's not due for a week."

"Early start, wanted to look at something! Ouch, stop, hurts!"

He paused to rest a hand on her back. He smiled at his pet's back and stretched, careful to keep her pinned with his legs. She probably wouldn't bolt but he put nothing past her, at least not for the moment.

"That's funny, Granger. I overheard Filch this morning and he seemed to think someone had been in the Restricted Section. Found a hair tie and a candle end. I wonder who that could have been."

Hermione put her head down and said nothing. Malfoy cleared his throat and began tapping gently at her back, clearly waiting for an answer. Taking a deep breath, she said as casually as possible "I just went to look for--"

SMACK! "OWWWWWW!"

"Wrong answer, little girl. Up you get now, come on."

Hermione was standing before him, sniffling and wiping tears from her eyes. Draco crossed his arms over his chest and shot her a look that promised terrible retribution in the very near future.

"Tell me, why are the things in the Restricted Section restricted?"

"They're dangerous." Her voice was a low murmur, her eyes glued to her hands.

"We learned that with Edgecombe, did we not? She's still badly disfigured, or was the last time I looked at her. Answer me, please."

"Yes, sir."

"Since that talk clearly made no impact, I think we need to repeat the lesson. I want you to go up and take a bath, Hermione. Wash your hair and change into nightclothes, you'll be going to bed directly after I'm done."

Swallowing hard, Hermione obeyed. She found she took no pleasure in the bathroom this time, nor the sweet smelling soaps and lotions. She finished as quickly as possible, mindful of his threat of weeks ago to bathe her if she wasn't timely about it.

He was waiting for her on the bed. She took up her place and waited while he ignored her. Finally he sighed and said very quietly "You have exactly one chance to tell me the truth. Start now."

"I was curious."

"About what?"

She got quiet for a second. "Nothing."

"You're on thin ice like it is. I'll ask again: what were you after?"

"Nothing."

"It's Potter, isn't it?" She said nothing, dropped her eyes.

"Of course it's Potter. It's always Potter." Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes a moment, wondering whether he ought to shove Scar Head from the Astronomy tower and be done with it. That wasn't an option, of course, but it was certainly an enjoyable fantasy.

"Please, I just wanted to look around. Harry doesn't even know."

"Bollocks. He's determined to kill himself and drag you and that red haired moron along for the ride."

"Ron's not--"

" I have a right to know."

"No, you don't."

Draco shook his head, feeling his patience writhing in its death throes. " You are being a very naughty girl tonight, and it's going to stop. I have a right to know anything that might affect what goes on here. If it bears on you, it might bear on me."

She cocked her head and said in her softest, most respectful voice "Does that cut both ways? Sir?"

Draco's jaw tightened. "It would only upset you, Granger."

Hermione laughed a little. "But it's proper for me to upset you." She sounded incredulous.

"It's wholly different matter. All you need concern yourself with is obedience and learning what I give you."

He got a firm hold on her arm and pulled her closer. She straightened, not exactly fighting but not allowing herself to be led, either. "It isn't that easy, Malfoy."

"Of course it is. You simply choose to complicate things."

"They're complicated whether I want them to be or not."

Malfoy released her arm and gripped both her shoulders, giving her a quick, firm shake.

"That's exactly it. You have no business involving yourself in these things, Granger. All you'll do is get yourself hurt or killed."

"So I'm to keep quiet and stay at home? Doing what, weaving my shroud?" Hermione's mother had minored in Classics in University and she was well versed in epic literature. So was Draco, who rolled his eyes and crossed his arms again.

"If it would keep you out of trouble, I'd chain you to a loom. I mean it, Granger, this has got to end."

"Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps I like it?"

"I'm trying to keep you from getting killed!"

"What about what I want?"

"You don't know what you want, Granger. As for me, I've made an investment and I plan on protecting it, whether you would or no."

She went very still for a moment. "How dare you?" Her voice was very soft, very calm. Malfoy felt a moment of…discomfort? It was obvious that she was angry. If it were Parkinson, Draco would have had to engage in a good long bout of feather smoothing, but since it was not, he simply shrugged.

"No need to thank me, Granger. I'm only telling the truth."

She inhaled very slowly. "How would you like it' she was still using that utterly civil tone ' if someone treated you this way?"

Malfoy could feel a headache starting. "I'd be grateful to them."

"Grateful?"

"You don't really think Potter will win, do you?"

Hermione knew by now she couldn't leave. She stood very still, hands folded, and concentrated on breathing deeply and not screaming. Malfoy's face was twisted with some emotion she couldn't quite name.

"Of course I think he'll win."

Draco didn't say as much, but this was ultimate confirmation to him that he was doing the right thing. As much as Granger had ever assumed that Malfoy was posturing, he'd assumed much the same of her; that perverseness kept her from admitting he was right. He'd always thought that once she was exposed to the right kind of ideas, she would see at once that hers were wrong and let herself be taught. He could see now that his job was much more daunting than that.

Malfoy pulled his jumper over his head. He reached up and loosened his tie and carefully took off his ring and tucked it in his pocket for safekeeping. Granger was watching him coolly, apparently still under the impression that she could argue with him and get away with it.

"Come here at once."

"No."

He wasn't about to get drawn into another protracted battle of wills. "If you aren't over here by the time I count to five, you will be. A very sorry. Little girl."

Hermione groaned in frustration. "You can't punish me for believing Harry will win. That's wrong."

He tilted his head. "I'm not. I'm punishing you for being in the Restricted Section for no apparent reason. You've proven you can't handle that kind of responsibility, so you're getting whacked for taking a stupid risk. All right, my girl, we're doing it differently tonight. Lie on your back, hands at your sides. Now pull your knees to your chest and wrap your arms about them."

Hermione was beyond grateful the room had provided her with knickers, albeit of a strange old fashion type more like boy's pants than the cotton briefs she was used to. Malfoy seemed unfazed by the strange garments. He raised his wand and stuck her and then murmured something to himself. To Hermione's horror, she felt her undergarments opening at the seat, tucking itself into the sides."How did you--"

He beamed. " Split drawers, they call them. Much easier to manage under ladies' dress robes , I understand. "

Hermione had another horrible realization. He'd be able to watch her face the whole time. Intellectually, she knew he'd seen her cry a hundred times, but the idea that he would be able to see every second of her agony was unbearable. Her eyes stung with mortification and horror, made worse by the fact he'd pulled the tin of salve out and was carefully applying a thin coat over her exposed skin.

"Please don't do it like this." Her voice sounded thick and strange, and she knew he was smirking at her, pleased. Malfoy put a hand on her chin and squeezed very lightly to get her attention.

"You need to be punished, don't you?" He was horribly gentle. She wished he would hurl insults, slap her—anything except sympathy and kindness. She couldn't bear it.

"Yes, I do, but—not like this, please?" Draco bit his cheek to keep from laughing. Tears were trickling down Granger's cheeks. Tears, before they'd even begun! He wanted to dance a little jig with sheer glee. He restrained his impulse and stroked along her jaw with his thumb instead.

"Hush. Just lie back and accept it, Hermione." She sobbed, face turned into the bedclothes. Oh, this would be so, so easy. And so very much fun. Draco stood and walked to the dresser, brought the hatred brush back and sat down.

"Oh no please not that I'm sorry please don't use the brush I'll be good!"

"I know, my girl. You try so hard, don't you?" Malfoy's voice was a caressing whisper, low and intimate. Hermione gasped and writhed. She felt so awfully, hideously _open, _as though he'd flayed her and could see everything, the contents of her very soul pulsing for his delectation like the beating of a heart.

Draco almost regretted the first blow with the brush. Almost. He wanted to go forever, digging his fingers in the sensitive meat of her interior, stroking the little nodes of desire and revulsion to their peak. He was determined that tonight would not be like other nights; tonight was the night when the process was begun. He'd been content to teach his pet pain; now, both their lives in the balance, he would teach her what it meant to surrender.

SMACK SMACK SMACK!

"AHHHHHH-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! OWWWWWWW!" She arched, howling, and found she could not move at all. And he was watching her.

SMACK SMACK SMACK!

"NOPLEEEAASEEEEEEEE! HURRTTTSSS!" Draco watched her, tears rolling from her tightly closed, trying frantically to do anything, anything at all to avoid the burning agony he was dealing her. She was totally at his mercy. He owned her, and he was showing her he owned her the best way he knew how, freely giving her the release she needed, showing her his control over her. He could be a kind master when the mood took him—as long as she obeyed.

SMACK SMACK SMACK!

"AHOWWWWWWWWWOWWOWWWOWWWWW!"

She bucked, hardly able to believe how much worse it hurt in this position. He'd never punished her without a thorough warm up, and the horrific sting was unendurable. She was conscious of bawling like a toddler but didn't care. All that mattered was the pain which had washed every other thing away.

SMACK SMACK SMACK!

"AIEEEEEEEEEOWWWWWWWWWWWWNOMORREEEEE!"

Draco set the brush down. He felt like he'd got her attention adequately, and he was achingly hard. He couldn't leave her to finish as he usually did, and he wasn't about to masturbate in front of her, so he resolved to tough it out. He let her yowl a few moments further and then said softly "Hermione. Look at me." And she did. " I have a very contrite little girl on my hands, don't I?"

"Now, what do you say to me?"

"S-sorry! Pleasenomore!"

"That depends on you. What did we learn?"

"S-stay out of the Restricted Section."

Smack smack smack smack smack smack! She wailed. His hand hurt terribly on her chastised flesh, but after the brush it felt like a doddle.

"That's right. And what else?' she sobbed with despair, not sure what he wanted, and his mostly mute better angel spoke up and told him to help. "Do you have a right to hide things from me?"

"No!" Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack!

" I'm only trying to what, Hermione?"

"Keep me safe! Owwwww, itburns!" smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack!

"Whose little girl are you?"

She bit her lip, torn between the limits of desire and her urge, stronger and more deeply felt, to retain a part of herself that was free of this, free of him. Unlike Malfoy, Hermione took no particular pleasure in the pain and would not have been ruled by it even if she had. Her need was simply the overwhelming imperative to give up control.

Hermione had a sudden perception of herself as standing on a precipice. She didn't want to say it; it would be, she realized, a sort of pact between them. Her mind could not probe the delicate ramifications of it, not at the moment, but something in her rebelled at the idea all the same.

"I said, whose little girl are you?" He bent closer and tipped her chin, making her look him in the eye.

"I can't."

"You can. Have been for months, or don't you see it that way?"

She said nothing and he sighed, reminding himself of the saying about hinkeypunks and pumpkin juice.

Draco unstuck his pet and moved her over so he could pull the covers back. "Get under." He used his wand to dim the lights considerably, leaving himself enough to make his way to the bathroom.

"I want you to stay in bed, no getting up and no lights, understood?"

She nodded. "Y'sir. May I have some water?"

A goblet appeared on the table and he handed it to her. She drained most of it and then closed her eyes, sighing. Draco pulled the covers up a little higher and went to take his shower.

When he returned Granger was lying on her side, breathing deeply. He slid under the blankets and wrapped an arm around her. She started. "It's only me, Hermione. Back to sleep with you."

"I can't."

"Sleep?"

"It really hurts."

"That's the point."

Granger huffed and said nothing. Draco snorted and sat up, cursing himself as a sentimental fool. He reached out his hand and felt the tin of salve sitting on the table. "Roll over, we'll put a little salve on it."

Hermione rolled on her stomach, surprised to feel little butterflies. She knew there was nothing to be bashful about—Malfoy had seen everything, physically and emotionally, long ere this-but it was still a little strange. Not a bad strange, though. Not anymore, not all the time.

Draco smiled as he smeared the creamy salve into his pet's burning flesh. He could feel the stiffness under his fingertips, the very slight jump as his fingers smoothed her tender flesh. She was breathing harder than she ought to have been. He wondered what would happen if he slid his hand downward and touched the great mystery between her legs. Would she be ruined?

"One last time: what have we learned tonight?"

"No more Restricted Section."

"Unless I tell you otherwise, yes. If you have questions about the Dark Arts, Granger, you might try asking."

Hermione half sat and was duly pushed back down. "Wouldn't it offend you?"

Draco chuckled lightly. "What's the use of having all those books available if one never reads them?"

"'S'what I said."

His eyes widened. "Joking at a time like this? You _are_ a brave girl."

Hermione pulled her gown back down and rolled over again, waiting for Malfoy to fit himself against her. He was really very bony, but like his touch it was sort of pleasant from time to time. Her eyes were closing when she felt his fingers in her hair, exposing the nape of her neck. Her skin prickled, her muscles tightening very slightly.

Draco put his lips almost against his pet's skin, smelling her hair and her perfumed skin. Exquisite. He wondered for the first time whether she would permit his defloration of her. It would be much nicer than having to manipulate her into it, after all. She was pressing into him, and he could feel the heat of her flesh against his groin. Did she know what she was doing? No, he decided, she's ignorant of what it does to me. That suited Draco fine.

"Whose little girl are you, Hermione Granger?"

Hermione was filled with a warm, sweet heaviness like liquid inside her belly. His arm was around her, his mouth to her neck. She sighed hugely and made her choice, the one which would haunt her in the nights to come. But that was far in the future.

"Yours, sir. I'm your girl."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N**:**Love to reviewers**

**From this point foreward, I will be deviating from canon where it makes sense to do so. Specifically, it makes no sense for Hermione to be pining for Ron in this storyline. I was going to write in a little sex, but the characters had other ideas and were very insistant.**

**The phrase 'goggle eyed whore' is not mine. Eustache Chapuys, Spanish ambassador to the court of Henry VIII, said it of Anne Boleyn.**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"We can't meet tonight."

"Why not?"

"I'm sick." She did look terrible, Draco noticed. Her face was ghastly white, with livid spots of red on both cheeks. There were dark circles under both eyes, and her voice sounded thick and hoarse. She was shivering, teeth chattering a bit.

"What have you taken?"

She named a popular muggle cold remedy. He shook his head. "Sounds like something you'd name a cat." He pointed to the door behind the tapestry. "We'll talk about this more inside."

Hermione obeyed, heart sinking. She put her arms about herself and hugged, wanting to be left alone. She couldn't bear the thought of letting Malfoy take control today; all she wanted was to curl up in bed and cry. First she'd woken up sicker than she'd been in years, and dragged herself to that horrible Quidditch game, and then Ron had… she bit back a sob of misery and followed Malfoy into the Room.

They made their way inside and into the parlor. By the end of the walk, Hermione's legs felt like melting plastic. She collapsed into the nearest chair, knowing she was supposed to stand in front of Malfoy and not caring a bit. Malfoy, following behind, frowned and went to reprimand her. Bending over, he felt the warmth coming from his pet and put a hand to her forehead.

"Granger! You're really sick!" He pulled his hand back from her hot, damp flesh. She nodded and shivered a little harder, sinking deeper into the chair. Draco felt a moment of …something. He was grateful they were in the Room—otherwise he would have had to get her to the Infirmary, and that would have meant questions.

"All right, little girl, upstairs with you. Come along now, up we get." He tried to pull her up and felt her wavering under his hands. She was so very hot. He made a choice; putting one arm under her shoulders, he slid the other under her knees and simply lifted her up. She was more solid than he would have thought but after a second he was confident he could bear her weight.

Hermione was being lifted. By Malfoy, she noticed with faint surprise. Malfoy was carrying her up the stairs. She felt as though her body weighed a million stone. Her head dropped to his shoulder and she sighed. It was strangely all right, being carried this way. Her eyes shut. She would have a rest, just for a moment.

Draco shoved the door open with his foot. The bed chamber had changed, he noticed. Aside from the big teak bed, there was a smaller bed and an arm chair as well. He made a small sound of gratitude and carried her over to the bed. A sickbed, he remembered from his childhood, with heat and cooling charms depending on what the sick person needed and sheets which resisted soiling. The bed clothes peeled back of their own volition and he laid her down, clothed, stopping only to untie her shoes and put them under the sickbed.

The bed had a small table attached, and on it rested a basin of water, some face flannels and several phials of potion. He checked the labels and was well pleased. Fever reducer, headache potion and something to curb nausea and reduce the swelling in her glands, two doses of each. A thermometer was sitting beside it all, thicker and longer than the muggle kind(though he did not know that), and finally a pitcher of ice water and two goblets.

Draco had never cared for a sick person. He contemplated again taking her to Madam Pomphrey and decided against it; he could not plausibly explain why he would be with her, and she wasn't sick enough to die, anyway. He was confident he could handle whatever came up.

Hermione felt a hand on her arm. She blearily opened her eyes and saw that Malfoy was very close to her. She blinked, confused for a second and said "Draco?"

"Open your mouth, Hermione. I'm going to take your temperature." He slid the thermometer in and motioned for her to clamp down. She obeyed, feeling the painful buzzing in her head and not wishing to do anything that would make it worse. They studied one another while they waited, and when he pulled it out she let the world go grey again.

"Thirty eight degrees! Says here you've got body aches and chills as well, my girl. And that you've sicked up twice since noon. Why didn't you go to the Infirmary?"

She shook her head. "Thought it would go away. Medicine helped for a while. Then I fell asleep and it was time to come and meet you… How'd you know all that?"

He showed her the thermometer. " It shows all your symptoms in the past twenty four hours. Open again, you're taking potions and having a nap." He tried to sound as business like as the nurse always did, but it was hard. It wasn't some random fool lying there-it was his mudblood, and she was sick. That was an unacceptable state of affairs, obviously, and he intended to see it remedied.

She didn't expect him to slide a hand under her head and feed her the potions but he did. All she had to do was swallow, which hurt dreadfully at first but started to feel better as soon as the potions hit her stomach. In ten minutes she was sleeping peacefully, one hand tucked under her chin, a cool flannel on her forehead to bring the fever down further.

Draco found another novel, delightfully lurid, sitting on the bedside table. He took it back to the armchair and sat down, sipping water and pretending he wasn't stopping every couple minutes to check on her. Already she looked loads better; her face was getting its normal color back, and she wasn't thrashing or moaning as though she had a fever.

By midnight he'd decided she would be all right. When he shook her responded at once. She was faintly chilled under his hands. The fever had broken and she'd perspired quite a bit. As disgusted as he normally would have been, Draco found he didn't mind much.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you. How long did I sleep?"

"A few hours. Sit up; it's time for your bath."

She shook her head. "I just want to go back to sleep." She rolled over and buried her head, expecting he'd go away if she lay still long enough.

Hermione jumped as the first swat landed on her backside. "When I (swat) tell you something(swat) you do not(swat) tell me (swat) no.(swat)." She got up in self defense and Malfoy clasped her shoulder. He pushed her gently to the bathroom, getting no resistance but refusing to relinquish his hold.

Malfoy propelled her over to a chair that had appeared in the corner and motioned for her to sit. He reached into the medical cabinet and pulled out a long, thin box. He opened the hinges and took out a thermometer. "Open your mouth, Hermione."

She frowned. "I'm perfectly capable of—mhmm!"

Malfoy smirked. "Got quiet in here all the sudden. Now, sit there and don't—you dare—move." He glared sternly for a second and then turned to the tub. He flicked his wand and the tub began to fill, producing huge, fluffy white bubbles and that sweet flowery smell. Looking closer, he could see the traditional bucket, too, in a tasteful white onyx to match the rest of the room, sitting on the shelf above the back of the tub, along with a silver salver for rinsing.

Malfoy came to stand before Hermione, smiling a little in the way she had come to recognize as no good. He calmly took off his vest and unbuttoned his sleeve buttons , rolled first the right and then the left past his wrists, careful that his Mark was covered. He undid his tie and tucked it in the pocket of his trousers. He was having an indecently good time, so far as Hermione was concerned.

His mudblood was sulking. It was hard not to laugh at her, sitting in the chair arms crossed, thermometer clamped between her teeth. He sternly quashed an impulse to pinch her cheek ( Granger could only be pushed so far) and instead squatted down so they were looking into one another's eyes. "I'd tuck that lip in, Hermione, someone might trip over it." He reached out and gently pressed on her lower lip. His pet glared, clearly dying to retort, but all she could do was wait.

Hermione wasn't sulking. It might have looked as though she was sulking, but if she could have talked she would have explained that she wasn't, no matter what it looked like. She certainly wasn't pouting like he implied. After all, she really felt well enough, except for the slight congestion in her head. And the fact she'd begun shivering a little. And the heat that was slowly building under her skin. Other than that, she couldn't have felt better.

He took the thermometer and held it squinting to the light. " Much better, the potions are working, but you'll need a second dose before you go to sleep. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"How do you mean?"

He fixed her with a look. "I mean, Hermione, that you know to take care of yourself when you are sick. It is inexcusable that you let it go this long. You were really ill."

She flushed. "I took medicine. My Mum always sends lots with me."

"Why didn't you go to the infirmary?"

She subtly stiffened. "There was something of an-an incident, and I didn't want to see anyone."

"What kind of incident?" As he talked, Draco wiped the end of the thermometer with a little hot water and tucked it back in the case.

" I don't want to talk about it."

"Since when is that relevant to anything?" He offered her his hand and, when she hesitantly took it, pulled her to her feet and sat in the chair. Hermione winced.

"Oh no, I'm not going to punish you yet. You're a very sick little girl, those potions need a bit longer to really start working. Still, I think everything you took and that nice nap ought to have you right as rain in no time." He gave her a predatory smile that told her that might not be an unqualified blessing. Then he reached out and began to pull her shirt over her head.

Hermione went rigid and smacked at his hands. "What are you---"

"Ah ah ah, hands at your sides. You let yourself get ill and overtired, so I'll have to help you."

"Malfoy! You can't."

He cocked his head and said very reasonably "Granger, I've seen you in nothing but a t-shirt. I routinely smack your bare arse until you cry. How is this different?"

Hermione dropped her head. "It's embarrassing, is all."

Malfoy nodded. "Good, it's supposed to be. If you want to be allowed privileges, Hermione, you'll have to show me you can handle them."

His pet looked outraged. "Privacy is not a privilege."

"It is when I can't trust you to take care of yourself."

It was Granger's turn to look patient. "I took medicine and laid down."

"It didn't cure you."

"Muggle medicine doesn't. It suppresses the symptoms and lets the body heal itself."

Draco considered this. "That's stupid. What's the point of taking something that isn't going to fix the problem?"

"It's better than nothing." Hermione was annoyed that he refused to see that she taken steps. Perhaps not all the steps she could have taken, but enough that she deserved to undress herself. Malfoy was being a huge prat, she thought rebelliously. That was the long and short of it.

"That lip is poking out again. It doesn't add to your case about being a big girl, you know."

"I wish you'd stop saying that. I think I'm older than you."

Draco laughed and pulled her camisole over her head. "When you act like a big girl, you'll be treated like one. Stand up straight, now, wouldn't want my hand to slip."

Tempting though it was to refuse, Draco did cover his eyes while she undid her bra and took her knickers down. She quickly wrapped herself in a bath sheet and said "Happy now?"

Malfoy put his hands down. He locked eyes with her for a long moment and then said as casually as he could "In you go, little girl."

Hermione felt herself blanch. " With you here?"

"I can't very well give you a bath from out in the hall."

Draco wasn't sure he'd ever seen such an expression of horror on a human face. She very nearly dropped the towel. He bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Go on, my girl, your water will get cold."

She couldn't move. "Oh no, please don't make me."

"I'm going to count to five. If you aren't in the water by five I'll put you in myself."

She had to force her frozen limbs to work. His eyes were burning her skin as she crossed the room and sat on the rim of the tub. She unwound the bath sheet and stepped in as quickly as possible, grateful for the depth of the tub.

Draco was a little disappointed. He'd gotten only a blurry flash of skin. Still, he had Granger naked in a tub not three meters from where he sat. Getting up, he crossed the room and knelt on the floor, inserting a hand in the water and swishing it a bit. "You see? It's cooled off." He waved his wand and the tap opened and spilled out a stream of steaming water.

Hermione hunched as much as she could, mortified beyond belief, and said in a panicked little voice "You've made your point. Please?"

Draco gestured and the silver salver appeared at his elbow. He filled it in the tub and responded to his pet's piteous query by pouring it out over her hair. She gasped and straightened, which was the goal.

" You're sick, Hermione. And don't tell me you feel fine, because you looked atrocious."

"Not that sick! This is humiliating, Malfoy, please."

Draco huffed. "You're lucky you don't feel good, little girl, or else I'd have smacked all that whinging right out of you. Now lie still and this will go faster." He wet her hair thoroughly and then picked up the phial of shampoo. Pouring a puddle into his palm, he worked it into her hair, especially the scalp.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut just in time, reminding herself that wizarding shampoo was much thinner and tended to run everywhere. Malfoy was washing hard but not cruelly, especially round her ears. It almost felt nice. She relaxed, savoring the sensation of being taken care of.

Inevitably her mind drifted back to the events of the day. She'd woken up terribly ill and known it at once. No time for the infirmary; she'd swallowed some of the muggle cold remedy her mother sent and shuffled into warm clothes for the Quidditch match.

Of course, she found herself sitting next to Lavender, and of the course the cow spent the whole time glaring at her. Hermione had never minded Lavender, for all she considered her an empty headed fool; ever since Lavender and Ron had gotten together, she'd gone from polite toleration to active hatred, all in the span of about three days.

After the match they'd repaired to the Common Room, where the usual celebration was being held. Ron and Lavender had had a short, intense conversation in a corner of the room. Then Ron had approached her and sheepishly motioned her into a private place. "Maybe it'd be better if you didn't come to the matches for a while, Hermione."

"Pardon?"

"Lavender's the jealous type, and she, uh…she feels like …shethinkswespendtoomuchtimetogether."

Hermione felt as though she'd been slapped but Draco had rubbed off on her and she didn't show it.

"Well, if Lavender feels that way I'll certainly honor her request. But don't bother asking for my help on that essay that's due Monday. I know you haven't even started."

She spun around and calmly walked to her dorm room, ignoring Ron's feeble "Hermione, wait!" She'd put her nightgown back on and crawled into bed. She must have been sicker than she'd thought—the next time she woke it was quarter after ten and she had to meet Malfoy.

Draco heard something. He stopped and listened closely. It was a sniffle. Could she be getting worse instead of better? No, Granger felt only a little warm under his hand. Which left him with a single distinctly unappetizing choice-Granger was crying.

"Something the matter?"

"No. No, I'm fine." She brought her knees to her chest and sobbed into them. Draco lightly ran his fingers through her hair, checking for shampoo and finding it clean. He took up the sponge and lathered it. He honestly had no idea what to do. Usually when Parkinson cried, she demanded to be babied and made much of. Granger clearly wanted to be left alone. He shrugged and began to scrub her back, humming to drown out the sounds of Hermione's pain.

Hermione cried in gasps as the warm water coursed down her face and body. If anyone had ever told her the day would come when she'd be sitting in a vast marble tub, crying while Draco Malfoy bathed her, she'd have called them mental. She made herself put her legs down and sit up straight as the nubby little sponge rubbed her back and sides. He made no effort to clean her anywhere untoward, for which she was profoundly grateful; in her current state she might have been too weak to fend him off.

Draco took up the scrub brush. Now that Granger had calmed down, he felt himself relaxing a little. He had no objections to the idea of her crying, but only when he did it. Since he had not done it, it was intolerable, and whomever had caused it would pay. Not for Granger's sake, but because no one damaged something of Draco Malfoy's and got away with it.

Hermione hissed when the brush began to vigorously ply its trade on her arm.

"Keep still, Hermione. You know you need a proper washing."

"Not so—oww—hard! I want to have skin left when you're done!"

Draco chuckled, remembering similar conversations from his youth. "A good, hard scrubbing is the only way to get really clean. Stimulates the circulation and helps get all the nastiness from outside off of you."

Hermione made herself lie as still as possible, vowing payback for this. Malfoy scrubbed as though it were about to be outlawed, and within a few moments she was pink and glowing with heat and cleanliness. Picking up a flannel, he cupped the back of her head and carefully washed her face.

Finally it was done. Hermione made her voice as respectful and soft as she could, remembering the hateful book, determined to have her way in this. "May I please have the towel?"

"Good try. You aren't getting out of the last part. Be brave, now." He motioned for her to stand and she did, covering herself with her hands. Draco flicked his wand and the bucket floated off the shelf and upended itself over her head. She gasped as the freezing cold water rushed from head to feet in the span of a few seconds, too shocked even to scream.

"Out you get, Hermione. You're quite naked." He thought that would break her paralysis and it did. Sputtering with anger and confusion she let herself be wrapped in the bath sheet. Malfoy took up another towel and started to dry her hair.

"Why did you do that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you pour that water on me? It was freezing."

He stopped rubbing and looked at her, annoyed. "To close your pores, of course. Can't walk around with your pores open, Granger, it's asking to catch something." He finished with her hair and turned around, hands over his eyes. "Towel off, little girl, and be through about it, or else I'll do it for you."

Hermione dried herself as quickly as possible, looking for a nightgown to change into. Nothing. Malfoy cleared his throat. "Done? Wrap yourself back up."

Malfoy sat down in the chair again. "Come here, Granger." Her stomach knotting, Hermione obeyed. He reached out and took her by the midsection. Taking a deep breath, drew her right side up into his lap.

"Now, what was all that about?"

Granger twisted. "Malfoy, let me down!"

"Shhhh. I said, what was all that about?"

Hermione felt tears stinging her eyes. " We can't—this isn't—please let me get dressed."

"Hush. You're perfectly decent, and since we're all warm and cozy right here, I see no reason to change things."

She was almost in tears again, he noticed with pride. He didn't have to smack her to control her emotions. He tightened his grip on her waist and bounced her a bit just to emphasis where she was. Granger looked away, clearly embarrassed at the whole thing.

"What were you crying? Don't you know? I can imagine such a little girl might not, always. She'd be all teary and out of sorts for no reason sometimes. And it's very late. She ought to have been in bed hours ago."

He pressed his lips to her neck as he spoke, and her twisting changed. It wasn't a bad change, though. It was nice, the way she was pressing her pelvis into his and sort of squirming. His hand found the knob of her collar bone and he stroked it with his thumb, delighted by the silkiness of her skin. She sighed softly. Draco became aware he was getting an erection.

Hermione noticed too, and her blushing became violent. She made herself forget the tingling, liquid warmth in her belly and said firmly "I do know. And I'm not a baby."

He kept his lips to her neck. "Of course you aren't. What upset my little girl?"

She hated it when he did that, except when she didn't. She found this was one of those times when she didn't. " I had a bit of a run in with someone."

"Oh?"

"Ron and I had a-a disagreement."

Malfoy frowned. "What did he do to you?"

"I really don't want to get into it."

His voice took on a warning note. "Granger."

"I mean, it was only a minor--'

Draco locked an arm about her waist and tipped her forward to pull the towel aside and give her a hearty smack on the bottom. She yelped and he sat her back down and looked her in the eye as he talked.

"That's for me to decide. I take care of you and I'll judge whether it's something important or not. Do you ever hide things from me?"

She was uncomfortable reminded of the last time and quickly shook her head. "No, sir."

"I'd be a very good girl, if I were you. You're in trouble for not having gotten yourself treatment like it is, and I think that bath brush would make an excellent attitude adjustor, don't you?"

She gulped and sat very still. It was even thicker than the brush in the bedroom, the handle at least twice as long. Malfoy shook her lightly to get her attention.

"Not to worry, my girl. I would only use that if you were very, very naughty. Now, what seems to be the trouble?"

"It's Lavender Brown."

"Dark blonde hair? Kind of pop eyed ?" He was gratified when she cracked a little smile. Only because it proved his control; for himself, he didn't care if Granger felt better or not.

"That's her." She briefly relayed what happened and Draco looked away, brow furrowing slightly. That cowardly, mealy mouthed, cringing little ponce. He'd hurt Granger over the goggle-eyed whore without a second thought. And he probably only regretted it because Granger wouldn't write his essay for him now.

Perhaps he'd have Crabbe and Goyle pay the Weasel a little visit later in the week. Crabbe had a taste for loosening teeth, he recalled, while Goyle preferred the roasted chestnut pop of a dislocated finger. He wondered whether Weasley could fly with all ten fingers in splints.

"If it's any consolation, Granger, everyone thinks she's a tart."

Hermione blinked. "I'd never heard that."

"Well, you don't pay much attention to the gossip mill, do you? Snape caught she and Blaise Zambini behind the tapestry at the entrance to the Great Hall. He had his hand in her knickers."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Zambini got detention for a month." And, Draco didn't add, the undying admiration of every male Slytherin over the age of thirteen. Granger actually giggled a little, ducking her head. Draco stroked a finger down her spine and felt the shiver.

"All right, time for bed. You're getting a bedtime smacking, but only a small one. Oh dear, there goes that lip again."

"Well, I _am_ a very sick girl."

Draco laughed. "Cheeky!' he picked her up, ignoring her gasp, and slowly made his way to the bedroom. 'I said _little_ girl. And you are. You're a sick, tired little girl who sleeps best with a warm arse."

" I could take some dreamless sleep. That's just as effective."

"But not nearly as much fun for me. Stiff upper lip, my girl, it will be over before you know it."

He sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the clean, starched nightgown the Room had provided. Shaking it out, he lifted it over her head and she let the towel drop and put her arms through. A second later she was face down over his lap, arse exposed and legs hanging down.

**Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack**

"Oww! Ouch, that hurts!"

"Be a good girl next time and you'll go to sleep with a cool bottom for a change."

**Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack**

Hermione writhed, kicking. "Ouch! Oww oww oww Imsorry!"

"Not like you will be."

**Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack **

"Naughty little girls get smacked on the bum and put to bed."

"Aieeee! Notthere!"

**Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack**

"Do you think you'll remember this?"

"YES! Oww!"

**Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack**

"Will you ever let yourself get that sick again?"

"NO! Ipromiseowwwwwww!"

"Better not, because if you do--" **SMACK SMACK SMACK**

"OOWWWWW!"

"-you'll get whacked every night before bed for a week, right where you sit, until you kick and cry just as you are now. Understood?"

"OWWWWWWW!YESUNDERSTOOOD!"

**SMACK SMACK SMACK! SMACK SMACK SMACK! SMACK SMACK SMACK ! SMACK SMACK SMACK!**

Granger went limp, sobbing. Just as well, because Draco's hand stung mightily. Still, it had been good to get back to basics. It had been forever since he'd used his hand to reduce to her this state, and he thought it had been a very good reminder.

Hermione bawled. Her bum was on fire! She knew his hand hurt, of course, but there was something about what they had done that night—being scolded and given a bath and then put over his lap for a long, hard handsmacking--that felt different. It felt much more intimate, much more---childish? At least in the usual run of things, the hand part only lasted a minute or two. This had gone on and on, while she cried and pleaded and he ignored her entirely.

"All right, up you get. Find your corner and wait by the chair." The stool, she was glad to see, had been replaced by a squashy armchair. He followed her over and motioned for her to climb up.

"Kneel on the seat, Hermione, and hands on the back. No, kneel up nice and straight, that's right." He seized the hem of her gown and tucked it into her neckline, exposing her. She squeaked and tried to twist around, only to have him gently grab the back of her head and push it into the corner.

"No no, Hermione. Hands on the back of the chair or I'll have to get the bath brush. You don't want that, do you?"

"N-no, sir!"

Her tears had started again and she made no effort to check them. The cry in the bathroom had helped but she still felt the hurt and betrayal of what had happened. Malfoy stood close by, telling himself it was to make sure she didn't get overexcited.

To Draco's annoyance, she was too upset to be effectively shamed by her corner time. The tears hadn't stopped, and he was afraid she'd make herself sick all over again. He couldn't justify taking it out on her, unfortunately; witches, be believed, are weak and emotional, so the occasional outburst is to be expected. She was fortunate to have someone to protect and guide her, he thought with more than a little smugness. He sat on the bed and called her over.

Hermione sniffled and climbed down, still crying a little. She felt loads better in nearly every way (she hated being exposed like this, _hated_ it). Draco patted his lap and she froze a second until he understood and said firmly "Right side up, my girl, it's time for your second dose." At least he undid the back of her gown.

She fidgeted as she sat down on his lap. It felt so strange to be doing this…but not a bad strange. Her insides felt warm and wet, as though they were sloshing about in some wonderful liquid. Her cheeks went a bright, glowing pink. Malfoy noticed too, because to her embarrassment he lightly pinched each one in turn.

"I'm not sure which part of you is redder, my girl. Open up, time for more potions." He gave his little pet all her potions, careful to make sure she took every drop. She made the funniest faces, just like a kid, when she swallowed. He cupped the side of her head and gently pressed it to his shoulder for a second.

Hermione felt him set her gently on her feet. "Lift up in back, I want to check."

"Check what?"

"Whether your face is redder than your arse." Looking away she obeyed, and jumped when his hand stroked her burning bottom.

"About the same, might be a bit more back here. A very good job, if I say so myself."

"Sir? May I rub?" He was in a good mood, and that inclined him to indulgence sometimes. Malfoy considered a bit.

"I suppose a minute wouldn't hurt." She put both hands back and cooled her throbbing flesh, shifting from foot to foot and sighing with relief. When she looked up Malfoy was grinning, head at an angle.

"You are the very picture of a well smacked little girl." And she was, he thought gleefully, as she rubbed her arse and danced for him. Her damp hair and cotton nightgown added to the tableau. She huffed, hands dropping to her sides.

He couldn't suppress a chuckle as she climbed into the bed. "You're glowing straight through your nightgown, my girl.". Draco pulled the covers up and brought them right under her chin. She wiggled a bit. "Really, that isn't--"

He lightly put his finger to her lips. "Shhh. Goodnight, Hermione. You'llbe good next time, I hope. I hate punishing you when you're sick or unhappy." Because then I have to deal with it, and that's no fun, he didn't say aloud. She nodded and burrowed into the pillow, sighing softly.

"She_ is_ a tired little girl. First she felt bad, and Weasley hurt her feelings, and then she had to have a smacking for being naughty. What a long, hard day." He reached out to trace the line of her jaw, and Granger went limp, a different kind than when she was punished. He rather liked this; it was a new kind of control. Very pleasant, he thought distantly, very warm.

"I'm not a little girl." She said it without rancor, and rather ruined the effect by mumbling it, half asleep as she was. He chuckled again and smoothed her hair.

"You're _my_ little girl. Aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Besides which, you like it. You know you like it."

She opened one eye and looked up almost shyly. "Sometimes I—ohhh—like it."

"Of course you do. Right to sleep now."

Hermione perceived that he'd lowered the lights and snuggled into the warm bed. She loved the mattresses at Hogwarts; sleeping in a feather bed was like an enormous hug. This bed was no different, except that the comforter was also down, which was even nicer. She distantly heard Malfoy leave the room and then, a long time later, come back. He slid under and pressed against her.

Draco buried his face in his pet's hair, reminding himself of the cost of failing, of failing himself and his parents and his mudblood, all of whom depended on him, knowing or not. She was all but asleep. She mumbled something. He made himself fail to react but it was surprisingly difficult. It sounded like she'd said "You're so good to me."

Hermione was drifting in a warm bath of peace and comfort when Malfoy said something very softly into her hair. She'd quite forgotten the next morning, but at the time she puzzled before sleep took her entirely. "You don't know the half of it." Whatever could that mean?


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Love to reviewers**

**Special thanks to jimmy-barnes-13 for her help with this chapter.**

**From this point forward, I will sticking to canon only in outline--the characterizations and several plotpoints of this fic are simply too AU. **

**Someone raised a very valid point in a review, ie "How are they still doing this and not getting caught?" My answer is good old fashion sneaking about, plus that fact that everybody in Gryffindor/Slytherin knows they're both on some kind of mission. If they met right after curfew, and got back to their dorms an hour before breakfast, they could plausibly explain their abscences ( I think).**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco Malfoy was pleased his pet was on time. Little enough was going right in his life without having to worry about Hermione as well. He'd made an attempt at the mission and failed miserably, spent most of the next two weeks stewing about it. He was very glad to see her, though a mountain troll could not have dragged it from him; there was nothing more relaxing than punishing his pet. And while Draco would have bitten out his tongue before he admitted it, the thought of a long cuddle afterwards with a warm, sleepy, sniffling Granger was too good to pass up.

Hermione walked to where Malfoy was, head held high. She had no idea that Malfoy had made an attempt, no matter how weak, on Dumbledore. It would have changed everything if she had. All she knew was that she'd rather come to miss him those two weeks. Not the pain and the humiliation, she told herself, rather less firmly than earlier, but sleeping curled into his chest was nice.

They didn't speak until they were inside. As soon as the wall closed behind them Malfoy spun her around and gave her a whack on the backside, right over her blue jeans. Hermione yelped, startled, as she found herself being marched briskly toward the manor. He waited until they were inside to guide her to her place and then plopped down, frowning. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"When were you planning to mention Potter's little tete a tetes with Dumbledore?"

She blinked. How could he possibly know? She certainly hadn't told anyone, and Harry was keeping mum about nearly everything these days. Or else he was telling Ron. They still weren't speaking, which broke her heart, but less than she would have thought. His behavior had opened wounds she'd long believed closed, and Harry, caught in the middle, reacted by pulling away from both of them.

"I'm waiting for an answer, little madam."

"How did you know about that? I barely know about that."

"I have all sorts of information, Granger. Don't try to change the subject."

"What subject? I don't understand what you're upset about."

"I'm upset because I think there's something you aren't telling me."

Hermione laughed. "And there's nothing you don't tell me?"

"That's wholly--"

"No, it isn't."

The real problem was that Draco was spoiling for a quarrel. As glad as he was to see Granger, he was brim full of frustration and anxiety, not to mention two weeks of sexual tension. He wanted an excuse to punish her and fast, so he'd chosen something he knew would get her het up without much effort.

"Well, if you and he are hardly speaking, why did I see you whispering together in the library yesterday? Looked thick as goblin's porridge to me."

Granger's face changed subtly, so subtly that someone less used to watching than Draco might not have seen. He might almost have sworn she was smirking at him, head tipped ever so slightly. For her part, Hermione was beginning to see, even if Malfoy couldn't (wouldn't). Brown wasn't the only one with a little problem, it would seem.

She shook her head. "He had to ask me something."

"Up to mischief again, is he?"

"Not that I know of. And he hasn't even mentioned Dumbledore."

"Doesn't mean there isn't something going on."

"Haven't you ever heard the saying 'no news is good news'?"

Draco laughed. "Wouldn't be so sure. There's more there than meets the eye, I daresay."

"I agree, but I still don't think he would have Harry do anything that wasn't safe."

"Really, Granger? Think about what he's hired just since we've been here: a pederast, an ecaped lunatic, a werewolf, that ponce Lockhart and, oh yes, the man with the Dark Lord sprouting from his head. What part of that screams magical competency to you?"

She sat, unbidden, and crossed her arms over her chest. "I understand you don't like him, but I still have faith in his judgement. And Harry trusts him, which is good enough for me."

Draco rolled his eyes. "St. Potter again. Tell me, Granger, what has he ever done for you?"

"He's practically my oldest friend. He and Ron were the only people who were nice to me at all first year, everyone else was hateful. They started being nice to me after he was. If it wasn't for Harry, I'd never have made any friends at all."

"Since then? What has he done?"

"He's always there for me."

"Except when he's not. Like when he was chasing that stupid little Ravenclaw." Draco had seen them together several times last year, and, as he'd mentioned, paying attention to the gossip that went around could be useful and diverting.

"Chang, you mean, Cho Chang. That was different, it was--"

"Or when he's leading you into mortal peril. He's almost gotten you killed every year since you were eleven."

"Not second year, that was the Basilisk. And Fourth Year was fine as well. If Barty Crouch Jr. hadn't --" She waved her hand to indicate what they both knew. Draco snorted.

"Oh, well, only three out of five. It's practically as though Potter's your guardian angel or something. Honestly, I do wish you'd be rational about all this."

"I am being rational, I just happen to disagree with you. There is a difference."

Draco didn't see it. To him, disagreement meant he wasn't winning, and if there was anything that Draco Malfoy didn't like, it was not winning. He shot her a warning look and she boldly tipped her head and gave it right back.

"No, there isn't. You're letting your fondness for Potter distract you from the issue."

"There is no issue. He only wanted to ask me a question."

"Do tell."

"Ron and I were supposed to go to the Slug Club Christmas party, but since he and 'Lav-Lav' are joined at the hip, Harry asked whether I wanted to go with him. As friends. I told him no."

Malfoy felt a sense of satisfaction that he refused to credit. If he couldn't go, then she couldn't either. "So I suppose you'll be staying in?" He certainly hoped so. Perhaps they could spend the night before break together; if not, then at least he would have the comfort of knowing she wasn't at a party.

"Well, no. Someone else asked me and I said yes."

"Someone else? Someone else like whom?" It was all Hermione could do not to laugh at the sour look on his face. She had the sense that Malfoy wasn't used to not being invited places, and the Slug Club's Christmas party was shaping up to the event of the season.

"McLaggen."

Draco's eyes widened. "You mean that strutting little pillock asked you to go and you said yes?" He felt something that was assuredly not hurt. Nor was it jealousy, despite his urge to smash McLaggen's shiny white teeth down his throat. It was simply annoyance that his plan had to change, that was all. Or did it?

"Don't be absurd, Granger, you can't possible go with McLaggen. I won't allow it."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You won't allow it?"

"Absolutely not. I see no reason for you to expose yourself to McLaggen's advances all night. Strikes me as the type to have busy hands. Besides which, you'll be here with me that night."

She shook her head. " I can't back out now."

"You'll have to give him your regrets. I mean it, Granger, you simply can't go with McLaggen."

Hermione sighed. "There'll be questions if I don't go. I'll simply have to do it."

"No."

Hermione was torn between anger at his stubbornness and amusement that Draco Malfoy was all but pouting like a child. She smothered a grin and said as reasonably as possible " We've agreed we can't altar out routines too much."

Draco fought an urge to cross his arms over his chest. He didn't like having Granger be the reasonable one. He was the reasonable one, he took care of things and she had no business making a valid point, especially one that encouraged an outcome that didn't involve getting his way.

Hermione sat a little straighter. She had no intention of arguing about this. Malfoy didn't get his way and that was going to be that. She was more than willing to conceded certain points, when it came down to it; let it never be said that Hermione Granger couldn't make a good compromise. But when she came down to it, she was still the captain of her own soul, to borrow a phrase, and she didn't intend to let Malfoy's petulance at not being invited impinge on that.

Draco took a deep breath. The mudblood was looking at him as though she thought to continue the debate. That wasn't going to fly. He liked to match wits with his pet—she was smart and articulate, and totally unawed by him. That could be very pleasant. But tonight of all nights, with the future hanging so precariously, and from his shoulders, he didn't want to be gainsaid. Or reminded that the Malfoys were no longer what they once were, which was about the same.

"I said no. It isn't up for negotiation, my girl."

She looked nonplussed. "Look, I've told him yes. I'm not going to back out because you're being a baby about it."

The bad feelings that had been brewing in his chest finally overflowed. He ground his teeth for a moment, holding his self control by a thread. As angry as he was, he wasn't about to hurt her. Punish her impudence to the nth degree, yes. Hurt her, not at all. Even as he planned what he would do to her, part of him was looking forward to lying under the eiderdown in the big teak bed and listening to her breathe. He had had very little good sleep since the failed attempt; had an idea that an armful of hotbottomed mudblood would work a treat as an insomnia cure.

"We will continue this discussion upstairs, my girl. I'd better find you bent over the bed, knickers down, trousers at knees. This disobedience. Will not. Be tolerated. Go on."

Hermione swallowed a retort and marched toward the stairs, shaking slightly. She had no intention of being punished for having a life outside of …this. She nearly slammed the door and kicked off her trainers.

When Draco came up ten minutes later, he found his toy stubbornly sitting clothed on the bed. If he'd had even a little less self control, it might have ended very badly, and a good many things been much different. As it was, he made himself count to fifty and said softly "You've just made it that much harder on yourself. Stand up and get those trousers down at once."

"We need to discuss this. Smacking me won't take care of the problem."

"There is nothing to discuss. You've been disobedient and disrespectful and I won't have it."

"Malfoy, be fair. I have a life outside of this and so do you."

"I said stand up."

"No. Not until we've worked this out."

"Granger. Stand up. Now."

There was something frightening about his voice. Hermione wasn't scared he would do her real bodily harm, not really, but there was something of Lucius in his voice and that terrified her. In the past weeks she had come to notice that when he was gentle with her, he sounded very much like his father, and combined with the apparently genuine fondness and respect in his voice when the man came up, she'd come to conclude that whatever else Lucius Malfoy was, he'd been good to his son.

Now she could see the other side, the side she'd seen at the Ministry. The side that had been very willing to kill them for the prophecy. She stood and slowly lowered her trousers to her knees. Bending over the bed, she got a handful of eiderdown in both fists and tried to make herself detach. She was anywhere but here, anywhere at all…She bit her lip and waited for the pain.

Malfoy tried to convince himself this was a good idea. She wasn't listening to him, she'd been defiant and saucy, and a good smacking would do them both a world of good. He'd be much calmer and more ready to listen, and she'd be obedient and sweet and sleepy. Then perhaps she'd understand that…his hands were shaking.

"Hermione?"

She blinked. He was talking to her. She pushed her face into the covers. She wanted to be left alone. This was nothing like the place she went when he punished her for real. That wasn't a bad place; was even a good place, more often than not. Because she understood it. It, and him. This was incomprehensible. It was terrifying. She felt alone.

Draco's unease increased. He found himself wishing she'd curse him out. Or hit him. Or anything but lie there like she was too afraid to move. He told himself she was being stubborn, refusing to take her medicine, and that he ought to keep going. He tried to close his hand around the brush again. Put it down. He'd seen her stubborn and this wasn't it. He slowly reached out a hand and rested it lightly against the side of her head. She liked that; even after she'd been punished, she always reacted well to a gentle touch. He felt her cringe away. That did it.

He was lifting her up and rolling her over, working her jeans down and then off. She shivered; she felt as though her body weighed a million stone. Malfoy gently put an arm below her knees and another under her shoulders and picked her up.

To his credit, Draco realized a terrible mistake had been made. He hadn't the faintest clue what he ought to do now. His mudblood was still silent and unmoving. He remembered the nightmares he'd had as a child and how his parents had reacted to them.

"All right, darling, time for a bath." He tried to keep his voice bright and reassuring, not noticing that he'd used a pet name. He held her close as they left the bedroom and went into the bathroom. The tub turned itself on and he held her as it filled, trying to gauge where she was emotionally. She made no protest when he stripped her. Draco left her knickers strictly alone; he didn't even look at her breasts. His whole attention was on fixing the problem that had been created.

She didn't want to sit on the floor of the tub. She whimpered slightly as he put her in. Malfoy patted her shoulder. "Is it warm enough?" She nodded. He felt encouraged, thinking she would come out of it, but she crossed her arms over her chest and said nothing, head bowed. Draco found himself blinking tears. Oh, this was bad.

He bathed her as rapidly as possible, then faced what was for him a serious dilemma. He had been raised to believe that, without a thorough scrubbing with a brush or something like that, a person would get sick because the filth and disease from outside would sit on their skin and make them ill. When Purebloods complained about the filthiness of muggles, they meant it literally.

On the other hand, he couldn't risk upsetting her by using the brush, which she clearly didn't like. He compromised by using the sponge hard, wishing she'd ask him to lighten his touch. She didn't. He helped her out. even skipping the cold water, and dried her hair and skin. Picking up a phial marked 'skin' from the counter, he poured a little into his hands and smoothed it on her arm. For the first time, she seemed to be reacting. Encouraged, he did the other arm as well.

"Granger—Hermione? " He bent to rub her legs, intellectually aware that she was all but naked and not caring. Any other time he would have studied the mysteries of her body as avidly as a baby nurses. At the moment he couldn't have cared less about anything that didn't involve making sure his mudblood was going to be okay.

A nightgown appeared on the counter and he eased it over her head, turning away while she eased off her sodden knickers. Then he lifted her again and took her, unprotesting, to the chair in the corner. He sat and put her in his lap.

Draco gently cupped the back of her head and pressed it into his shoulder. He would have given anything to undo what he had done, and in that moment, he launched himself on a path that would change a great many lives. He had no idea at the time, of course; childishly, he just wanted to make sure she wasn't angry.

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. She was desperate not to feel alone, and her ingrained trust in him held. As scared as she had been, she recognized that he had tried to fix his mistake. He was wearing a soft, warm jersey, and by pressing her head to his chest, she could hear his heartbeat.

Draco was profoundly grateful she had begun to act more normal. He put a hand between her shoulder blades and rubbed. She snuggled closer. He made himself relax as much as he could; when he'd had a nightmare as a child, nothing had helped more than the presence of an adult, someone who cared simply being there. He wished for a throw blanket and one appeared. He tucked it over both of them, wanting to make her feel safe enough to talk about what had happened.

Hermione found herself feeling better. It was nice that he wasn't trying to talk. Malfoy was content just letting her calm down. She took a few deep breaths and gently rubbed the blanket between her fingers, enjoying the softness.

"I have a little girl in my lap who likes cashmere."

"Yes."

"Hermione, I--"

She shook her head. "Please, can't we just--"

"All right."

They sat like that for a long time. Draco put both arms about her and rocked a little, wishing she would say something. He was feeling an enormous amount of not-guilt, the same way he felt not-jealousy earlier. He had been trained to expect to have his own way; he was a Malfoy, and he'd always believed that Malfoys ruled through their innate superiority. He'd defaulted to that when faced with a situation that caused him pain and confusion; for the first time, he questioned whether that was the best way to handle things.

Eyes closed, Hermione let herself concentrate only on sensation. His jersey was soft, but Malfoy himself was hard and bony. His hands were cold and chapped. She felt very warm, and the emotions of the day had left her tired. It would be easy to go to sleep this way.

"No, don't go to sleep. We need to talk about it." Even as he talked he was tightening hid hold lightly. Hermione opened her eyes and yawned a little. She nodded. Given her choice, she would have stayed curled up indefinitely, but Hermione was a good, practical girl who understood why that couldn't be. She made herself sit up and open her eyes.

Draco would have been equally content for her to stay like that. She was warm and soft and sleepy, and he found himself soothed by her presence in his arms. He wanted to stay there until this whole ugly year was over and they were safe at Malfoy manor, cling to her like a teddy bear, sick up his awful secret and put his head in her lap to weep. He did none of these things. Instead he took a very deep breath and said "I did not mean to frighten you, Hermione, and I…regret…that this incident ever happened."

With any else she would have laughed off such a weak gesture, but from Malfoy this was practically the same as a sky-written apology. She nodded and said "Thank you. I appreciate that."

"What happens now?"

"What do you want to happen?"

Draco cupped her chin and looked her in the eye. "I want you to trust me to make good choices for you. I worry, Granger. I worry loads."

Hermione lowered her eyes. That was actually kind of touching. He seemed serious, and she wanted to reassure him that everything would be all right, but of course it wouldn't. They had chosen sides years ago, and now all they could do was wait for the deluge to hit them.

"I understand that, Draco, really I do. But we can't let people find out about…this. It would be dangerous. And you have to trust me to know what's best for myself at least part of the time. We have to live our lives, and try to get whatever time together we can. Before everything falls apart."

He nodded. "I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Me neither. McLaggen's a dreadful bore, and he has terrible breath."

Draco chuckled. "Yet you're letting this specimen escort you?"

"It was him or the giant squid."

"Did you ask the squid?"

"He has a prior engagement."

They both laughed a little. Draco suddenly cupped her cheek. "Are you still my little girl?"

Hermione pressed her face into his jumper again. "As long as you want me to be." She felt his muscles bunch and then he was lifting her, and then they were in bed. She let herself be tucked under the eiderdown. When he climbed he put his arm about her and they spooned, lost in thought.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight." She was half asleep already. He held her like that a long, long time. When the tears came he muffled them in his pillow, drowning the sounds of his fear and confusion in a warm sack of down. He didn't want his little girl to wake up.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco found Crabbe and Goyle in the Common Room, gobbling chocolate fairy cakes from a huge box perched in Goyle's lap. He was holding a letter in one cream coated paw, and both boys were thoroughly coated in icing. They looked happy.

"Oi, Draco, look, Tiggy sent a care package!"

"I see that, Greg."

"Where were you last night? Me and Vince looked and looked, but we couldn't find you."

Vince Crabbe swallowed the mouthful of fairy cake he'd been chewing and said sagely "I think our Draco's got himself a bird."

For Vincent Crabbe, this was great wit, and he and his boon companion laughed hugely, spraying crumbs everywhere, causing Bulstrode to glare and stalk out muttering, carrying her Potions text with the air of a person surrounded by morons, which she had been.

Draco shot Crabbe his most withering glare. "Don't be stupid, Crabbe, I was… out." He looked pointedly at his forearm and both other boys nodded quickly. Doing some big mission for the Dark Lord, was Draco. They felt very proud of their friend ( and he was there friend. They sincerely liked him, which caused him a certain amount of existential bother from time to time, when he felt reflective), and wanted very much to help him if they could.

"I have something of a special job for the two of you, if you're interested." They certainly were. Draco's jobs usually involved things they enjoyed, and he paid well. Not to mention, if they did well enough, he might put in a good word with…

Goyle dropped his voice. "Is it for Him?"

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. "I suppose in a manner of spea—yes, Goyle, it is. Top secret, you understand. I can't tell you too much."

They leaned closer, fairy cakes temporarily forgotten. Draco leaned in too, trying not to gag at the smell of rarely washed bodies overlaid with chocolate and cream.

"You know that blood traitor that's always hanging about Potter?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

An owl flew across the Great Hall that Monday morning. It dropped a thin sheet of parchment into Draco's lap. The front was done in thin, girlish script that he didn't recognize. 'I swear, if Parkison's at it again…'

Inside was a single sentence. "The Squid ?" He looked across the Hall. Wealsey was slouched next to Goggle-eyes. He was wearing a nose plaster, and he was sitting in a way that proclaimed he was in discomfort. A few rows down Draco saw his mudblood's head. She wasn't even looking his way but he knew. Grabbing his books, he nearly ran from the Hall and into the nearest WC. Draco Malfoy laughed.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Love to reviewers**

**I had this chapter half written while I was struggling with chapter 13, so here it is.**

*****SEX!*** Well, sort of. More like '...sex?' Sexual content, anyway.**

**Seriously, though, I loath how the media tends to portray sexuality, especially in the context of inexperienced teenagers. I'd much rather exploit all the funny, weird, kind gross aspects of it for all they're worth, so be forewarned. They're still experiementing, and pretty inept, and full of strange ideas. Ah to be young again...or not.**

**My daschund 'helped' me with this chapter, mainly by sitting with his head in my lap and poking me with his nose every time I disturbed him to type. Therefore, the author's credit should read "Madea and Poohbear the Wonderdoxie."**

**Also, green sickness was a real diagnoses. The Elizabethans believed it was brought about by prolonged virginity, primarily in women. The idea that women have no sex drives dates from the Victorian age.**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco stretched out beside his mudblood, dozing. It had been a long day but everything had gone well enough for him to feel optimistic about his prospects. Granger had been very tired, too. She'd seemed wan and a little sad. When asked, she had mumbled something about 'girl problems'. Draco was unsure what this might mean but he'd decided that discretion is the best part of valor and proposed they go to bed early. She'd nodded, quite grateful, and so after just a little handsmacking (with the promise of more to come), they'd laid down.

He became aware that she was moving beside him. Opening one eye, he saw only a blanket covered lump. She was breathing hard, he noticed with some concern for his pet. Was she sick again? He pulled the blanket back in one quick motion. She was lying on her stomach, and as soon as he moved she lay still. "I know you're awake, Granger."

"Hmmm?"

"What were you doing?"

She had got very quiet. Malfoy spelled the candles higher. "I asked you a question."

Hermione could feel blood suffusing her cheeks. She looked at the coverlet and made a reply so soft he strained to hear. Not soft enough, because Malfoy sat up and said "What?" in a tone that would have been very appropriate to, say, an announcement that Hermione had decided to eat a live puppy.

"Can girls even do that?"

She snorted. "I assure you, it's possible."

"Care to explain?"

"Explain what?"

"Why were you doing that?"

"Why do _you_ do it?"

Draco felt himself reddening in the flickering light. "What makes you think I would do a thing like that?"

His pet cocked her head. "_Malfoy_."

He frowned. "This is not about me, it's about you."

"It's a valid point."

He sighed. "Men have urges, Granger. If I don't release the tension, then I might be impelled to make demands of you. Besides which, it's a very bad idea to keep all that bottled up. Makes you' he wasn't about to use the word 'impotent' in front of Granger. It would upset her and he'd have to make awkward explanations 'Well, it's bad for the health. Anyway, I don't understand why you'd be doing a thing like that."

"Same reason you do."

Malfoy shook his head immediately. " Women don't have those urges."

"Yes, they do."

"I'm not sure you understand what I mean, Granger. Men have urges of the flesh that they have to gratify or else it makes them sick. Green sickness, they call it. Women aren't liable to green sickness because they don't have those urges. Are you absolutely sure that's what you were doing?"

"I am 100% sure, Malfoy. And I promise you, women do get those urges."

Draco wondered if this was muggle propaganda she'd been taught. He reached over and delicately took her wrist. "Perhaps you feel sick to your stomach?"

Hermione laughed. "Malfoy! " After a moment he smiled a little too, but said in a serious voice "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Because it might damage you somehow. I mean it, Granger, I don't think you should be having those urges."

Hermione sat up and took a sip from the goblet of cold water on her bedside. She shook her head and said as reasonably as possible "Malfoy, women have the same desires as men when it comes to…that. It just doesn't get talked about as much. My Mum gave me a book about it when I got my…when I turned twelve."

Draco's eyes widened. "Your mother knows about this?" The sheer horror in his tone was almost funny. She quickly shook her head. "No, no, not this specifically. But she gave me a book about puberty—becoming an adult physically, and it said this is very normal."

"Still doesn't sound right to me. What if you ruin yourself?"

"Ruin myself? How?"

He wasn't about to announce he had no idea. Trying to sound knowledgeable, he said portentously "The point is, I think it's a very bad idea. From now on, I expect you to abstain just to be safe."

This time she did laugh. "Don't be silly, Malfoy. I'm not doing anything wrong, and it helps with the cramps."

"Cramps?"

She explained as briefly as possible. By the end both their faces were bright pink, and neither could look the other in the eye. Draco shuddered, overwhelmed by disgust at the intricate processes of the female body, and deeply grateful to be male.

"Can't Madam Pomphrey do something?"

"It's a very normal thing. Every girl goes through it."

"That's what you said about…anyway, a potion will work just as well."

Hermione knew by now that arguing directly wouldn't help. Instead she said "If it bothers you, I shan't do it here."

"I don't want you to do it at all! It's not natural, Granger. I won't have you hurting yourself this way."

Malfoy pulled her closer, rested his chin on the top of her head.

"It's not hurting me. It feels good."

"So does eating toffee, but you aren't doing that every day either."

Hermione tried to sound innocent and offhand. "It's something of a skill."

He nodded a bit. "Yes, well…"

"Some people get very good. I heard Parvati and Lavender talking last week and they said…never mind."

"They said what?" Draco's urge to maintain propriety warred with his nosiness. His mudblood was blushing nicely, justly ashamed to be talking about such an immodest, unwomanly topic. He gave her a very light poke on the side.

"Well, Lavender said Blaise Zambini is quite…"

"Quite what?"

"Good at…you know, with his fingers."

Draco digested this. "He's certainly popular with the right kind of girl. Jammy sod." He snorted at the thought of Snape catching Blaise doing that to Brown, of all people, and then spelled the candles back down.

They lay in the darkness for some time, lost in thought. Hermione sighed, knowing she'd never get to sleep and irritated that Malfoy's weird medical views were impinging on her life.

"Granger?"

"What did Brown say about the Weasel?"

She rolled to face him. "I'm sure I wasn't listening. Besides, even if I did know, you wouldn't be interested."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that. We both know you listened. What did she say?"

"Well, she said he's…I'm not sure I ought to tell you. It's very private." She averted her eyes and tried to snuggle into the bed, pretending not to notice his outraged expression. He poked her rather harder and said "Granger, do come on!"

"She said he's learning. He'd never done a thing like that, but she said he has' Hermione dropped her voice 'Natural talent."

Draco was torn between disgust and annoyance. The idea that Weasley should be said to have natural talent at a thing was the absurd, of course. Of course, it _was_ Brown; she struck him as sluttishly easy to please. Anyone who'd let Zambini anywhere near them had to be.

"If Weasley can do it then it can't be very hard."

"Oh, it's not as easy as it seems."

There was something entirely too arch in Granger's tone, and from what he could see she looked much too innocent. Suddenly the pieces fell into place with a near audible click. The little brat. Draco felt a certain pride in his chest. His pet's first Slytherin plot, and it very nearly worked. That said, he was going to tan it right out of her. But still, it was good to know he was a positive influence in her life.

"If I didn't know any better, I would think a certain naughty little girl was trying to talk her way around me. Do you know a little girl who would do a thing like that, Hermione? I imagine she would be very sorry once she was found out. Why do you suppose that would be?"

Now she really did drop her head a little, and Draco had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud. " Cat got your tongue?" He gently put his hand under her chin and tipped her face up.

"She'd get smacked?"

"Yes, she would. Because that was really a very mediocre attempt, wasn't it?"

Hermione's innate honesty chose this moment to assert itself. Deeply annoyed, she huffed and blurted out "Fat lot of good that book did! I tried everything it suggested and it didn't work." Realizing a moment too later what she'd said, her face went a dull scarlet.

Malfoy threw back his head and laughed. "Granger!" She really did look just like a naughty child, face pink, lip pushed out a bit.

"Oh dear. I quite forgot."

"Forgot what? Sir?"

"That when I take my little girl over my lap, I have to make sure she's very well punished and contrite before I let her up again. Otherwise she gets up to mischief again in no time at all."

"Well, I mean you don't _have_ to. I certainly learned my lesson last time." She fiddled with the blanket a little, flushing. Draco grinned and shook his head.

"No no, I feel obligated. "

Hermione was resigned, but to her surprise she wasn't dreading it like she usually did. She wasn't exactly looking forward to it, but sometimes the game itself was almost fun. And in a weird way, she liked the feeling of being taken care of. Malfoy encouraged her to express a part of herself she'd suppressed since she was…five? Six? For a very long time.

"What do you think we ought to do about that, little girl?"

She squirmed, not wanting to say what she knew he wanted to hear. Draco put a hand on the small of her back and lightly tapped his fingers, relishing her slight jump.

"I can't hear you. Say it in a nice clear voice?"

"I guessIneedasmacking."

"That you do. My goodness, look at the time! Stay here, Hermione, while I call an elf. Does that fish from supper sound good?"

Hermione stood, looking confused. "Y-yes, it sounds fine. But why did you stop?"

Malfoy smiled sweetly. "Can't have my little girl going hungry. We'll have a nice snack before your punishment."

He came back, announcing the elf would be back in a quarter hour or so. "In the meantime, choose something for me to use on you. Anything you can find, within reason. If you want to choose a switch, you may, but come and tell me so I can walk you outside."

Hermione gasped. They hadn't bothered with proper nightclothes, and she still felt embarrassed to be seen walking around in just a t-shirt and knickers. Draco smirked. "Don't even ask. It will remind you about what happens next."

Hermione wandered down the stairs and toward the dining room, and from there the kitchen. She didn't want the spoon, but she knew she had to find something. Closing her eyes, she wished very hard for something that would satisfy Malfoy but not be utterly hideous.

Something thunked lightly onto the table. Opening her eyes, she found that damned spatula Malfoy loved so much. She winced, remembering the burning sting and horrible heat. This was really the lesser of several evils; she could think of nothing that would hurt less, but a good many things that would hurt more. And if she let him wait too long he'd get ideas…Sighing, she carried it back with her.

"In here, Hermione. Hurry now, there's a good girl."

He was sitting ensconced on his favorite chair, flipping through a book she'd never seen. He smiled when she came in and took the spatula from here. "Sit down, we still have a few minutes."

The food arrived and they ate. Malfoy pointedly wouldn't answer questions about what he intended to do, talking instead of classes and the upcoming holiday. After they were done, he ordered her go to the bathroom. She took a quick bath, surprised to be allowed her privacy. As she was combing out her hair, Malfoy appeared in the mirror behind her. He put a hand to her neck and held it there, unmoving.

Draco felt his pet's flesh reacting to his touch, goose pimpling under his fingers. Face impassive, his heart rose within his chest. This boded well for his plans, all of them. He'd need to get work on deflowering her soon, and he intended on making an inroad tonight. No matter how repulsive it seemed, he'd simply have to soldier on and do what he must.

He dropped his hand to close on her wrist. "Come along, my girl." She knew he couldn't hurt her, but her stomach dropped every time. Rather more disconcertingly, her body was warm and tingly in a way she knew all too well. Part of her wanted to be disgusted and horrified; she wasn't enjoying this, was she?

They went to the bedroom and he gave her a quick hand warmup, uncharacteristically silent. Hermione yelped and squirmed as his hand cracked down over and over again. Finally he paused to let her catch her breath.

"Over to the bed." Hermione stood by the end of the bed and waited for Malfoy to arranged himself. He called her over and flipped her up, hitching her nightgown well out of the way. She sniffled, feeling very exposed and sore from the hand smacking. She wiggled, trying to get comfortable, grateful he let her lie with her upper body on the bed.

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP**

"This willfulness is going to stop. If you aren't a big enough girl to be talked to, then you'll need to be smacked."

"OWWWWWWW!OWWWWWWW!OWWWWW!" He hadn't prepared her nearly well enough. It was wretched! She'd forgotten how much the damned spatula hurt! Her legs were kicking hard, and Malfoy took a moment to pin then at the knees so she didn't hurt him.

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP**

"Do you like how it feels to be over my knee while I paddle your backside bright red, Hermione?"

"**No! Hateitawful! PleaseImsorrynomore**!"

"Do you? That's unfortunate, because you're going to be here a good long while I explain the consequences of your bad behavior to you."

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP**

"**AIEEESORRRYYYYNOMORREEEPLEEAASECANTSTANDIT!"**

"I know you don't think you can take another second,but I'm going to tip you forward and make sure the place you sit is as hot as I can make it. Perhaps a good long time being sore and tender will remind you of what naughty little girls get."

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP**

"I don't make rules to spite you. I make rules because I want you to be safe. You tried to distract me rather than listening like a good girl. Every time that happens you'll go over my knee and get your bum bared and smacked."

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP**

"You're only a little girl and I expect you to remember that and act accordingly. The next time you try to outthink me it will be even worse for you."

He stopped, dropping the spatula and putting a hand between her shoulder blades in a way she seemed to find very soothing. His mudblood was crying hard, totally given over to the pain. Draco found it very erotic, watching her forget everything except her pain and humiliation at being punished. He fought the urge to put her in the corner and take care of himself.

Hermione wept a long time, relieved and embarrassed both. Malfoy was content to let her cry it out, and she released the pent up emotions from this time and last time. She'd been scared that being smacked by him might be frightening after what had happened, but it felt very natural, like sliding into a warm bath. 'Far too warm' she thought with a little self deprecating shake of her head.

"Hermione? I'm going to move you. Lie still." Draco reminded himself this was strictly necessary for the plan. He had no prurient interest in this, really. He carefully moved her so her head was on the pillows, knickers still down, nightdress around her waist.

"I did a bit of reading while you were in the bath, Hermione. Can you imagine what I found?"

"No, sir."

Malfoy reached into the drawer and pulled out a slim tome bound in peacock blue. "The Female Constitution" it read in gilt letters. Malfoy opened it to the place he had marked.

"Women don't get green sickness, but they do get an excess of bad humours that build up in the blood. Melancholia, mainly, but some choleric as well. Most of them get released with the monthly issue you were talking about, but apparently some of them stay on. Creates all kinds of problems, so they need to be purged regularly. This bloke says the best way to do that is' he perused ' an explosive out-letting of tension."

Hermione sat up, sniffling but outraged. "Then I was right and you punished me for nothing!"

"Oh no, not at all. I punished you for attempting to manipulate me, rather ineptly I might add. Besides which, this medi-wizard thinks it's a bad idea for a witch to do it unsupervised. Mustn't have you tiring yourself out or overdoing it."

He leant up and lightly pushed her against the pillows. "How's the belly ache?"

"Still hurts a bit."

He nodded. "What I thought. Legs up, Hermione."

She was getting very pink in the face. "Is it a good idea to--"

"It's my job to take care of you, including when you're…indisposed.. Isn't it, Hermione?"

She nodded and slowly spread her legs. She expected to feel dirty, ashamed. Or at least shy. Instead she felt a great wondrous pleasure at it; she was desirable and he wanted her, she offered herself to him on the bed like a gift.

"Try putting your calves on my shoulders, all right?" It hurt a bit but it was a good hurt. Malfoy studied the place between her thighs in mild wonder; nothing like he'd thought but still very nice. He slowly used his finger to stroke the little mound of fat under her belly; she shivered. The hair was wiry and coarse, but not unpleasant. More assured, he carefully ran a finger down the insides of her thighs.

Hermione felt him tugging gently at one of pillows. She watched as Malfoy carefully lifted her and set it underneath, elevating her hips even further. She felt vulnerable, paradoxically aware for the first time of the power of her body. Malfoy gently rested a hand on the lowest part of her stomach.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"If it hurts, tell me."

She was very warm inside. Very warm, and very wet. He was carefully to go slowly with his finger, feeling for the 'nexus of sympathetic energies' which the book assured him he would find. He took his time, and finally hit on a small round lump. Granger jerked, hissing. He'd found it.

Hermione winced as he touched her much too hard. After a moment, she put her hand down and grasped his wrist. "No, Draco, like this." She tugged lightly until he touch lightened by half. "Up and down, okay? Slowly."

He obeyed without thinking, curious to see what he could make her do. At first she was still, muscles twitching, but once he'd found a rhythm she was much more responsive. After a few minutes of up and down, he improvised by very gently going back and forth as well, and his reward was a gasped "Harder!"

"Have we forgot our manners?"

"Sir! Harder! Please!"

He obliged, and Granger's eyes widened. She was breathing faster, like she had been when he'd woken. Her body was pulsing a little bit, the muscles moving of their own accord. Granger was panting and making little inarticulate sounds in her throat. He pressed just a little harder, feeling the contractions speeding up. Draco's hand went to the front of his trousers, stroking his erection gently, moving his hips.

Suddenly she went stiff all over. He stopped at once, pulling his hand away. Oh, sweet Merlin, he'd killed her! Then her eyes opened and she smiled at him. "Well, that was interesting."

They stared at one another for a second and then cracked up. Draco fell beside her in the bed and they lay side by side, both of them laughing. Hermione realized she was bare to the waist and jerked her nightdress down, still laughing.

Draco sat up and wrinkled his nose. "Granger, my fingers are sticky. Would it offend you if I went and washed them?"

"Not at all. It sort of disgusted me at first as well."

Draco washed his hands in the sink and then took care of himself. It didn't take long; he replayed the various images of what had just happened and was well pleased. He had no idea if he'd released Granger's bad humours, but his own were in excellent shape. 'Protected myself again' he thought smirking. It was onerous, but what can one do for one's health except say yes?

Washing up again, he ran a comb through his hair and looked at himself in the mirror. His face was flushed with blood, and he looked quite rakish, if he said so himself. He came back to find his mudblood paging through the book on the nightstand, shaking her head.

"Did it work?"

"Wha-Pardon?"

"Did your emotional nexus flush the bad humours?"

She grinned. "Not quite, but it was still very good."

Draco frowned. "Why not quite?"

"You stopped."

"You went rigid. I thought you were dead."

Hermione giggled. "No, I did that because it felt good. Maybe next time it will happen."

He nodded and took the book from her hands. "Move over, Granger, it's time for bed."

She blinked. "Don't you want me to reciprocate?"

Draco went still. "What? No! Merlin, Granger, never say that again!"

"What did I do?"

She looked hurt. Draco winced internally ('please don't cry, please don't cry') and put a hand to her arm. "That isn't something a man asks of a respectable woman, Granger."

"You did it for me."

"Yes, to protect your health. I would never ask you to do something like that for prurient purposes." He stroked a hand down her back, feeling her relax a bit. She laid down and he spooned her, gently pulling her close.

"Besides which, that's an awful lot of excitement for a little girl. She gets fussy and overtired very easily when she has too much excitement."

Hermione pouted slightly and retaliated by wiggling against him a little. Draco laughed and lightly smacked her bum. "You brat, I ought to put you across my knee all over again." She squeaked with mock terror and went still, until he gently poked her ribs and said "I didn't say to stop."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next morning Draco found Crabbe and were enjoying another care package from Goyle's sister in law. He pulled up a chair, smiling a little to himself. "Well, boys, how are you?"

They blinked in confusion. "We're good. You?" Malfoy was never pleasant for no reason. Was this a trick of some kind? Goyle silently offered the box, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Oh, never better, never better." He took a pumpkin pasty and bit into it, still giving that Mona Lisa look of contentment. Chewing, he jumped up and walked toward his dorm room. "Going to write some letters."

Crabbe took another sweet. "Tiggy makes good biscuits."

"Yeah. Vince?"

"What, Greg?"

"You still think he's got a bird?"

"What? Oh, maybe. He's awful cheery."

Goyle considered. "That's right. Think he'll tell us who she is?"

"No."

They ate in silence for a time. Then, Vince (who was three months older and considered it his job to give a good example to his friend) said wisely "Better that way, maybe."

"What way?"

"That Draco not tell us. Could be more trouble than it's worth."

This seemed sound to Goyle. Selecting another biscuit, he munched peaceably.

Neither of them saw the figure lurking behind the pillar. Which was for the best, probably.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Love to my reviewers. **

**It's (winter holiday of your choice) in August! On account of that, I've left a cliff hanger at the end of the chapter--I'd love some votes about which way it should go.**

**Also, I've decided slap vs. punch is HP's version of Han shot first.**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Draco sighed softly, watching his pet walk away. McLaggen was a posturing, overbearing ass but he seemed like the sort who'd want to keep his teeth in his mouth. Which was good for him, because Draco had decided that the bastard would be losing a few if it turned out he'd been anything but gentlemanly and polite.

Not that he had many doubts about Granger's ability to make her wishes known. As she'd been dressing Draco had come up behind her and put a hand to her arm. "Granger, if he should try anything, you have my permission to do whatever you deem appropriate to maintain your virtue. Including Unforgivables. Especially Unforgivables."

"Malfoy! That's not funny."

"Neither is the idea of that swot trying to manhandle you."

Granger had huffed and put the brush down. "It's not as though he'd be the first."

Draco resolved to track whoever else had done such a thing down and hurt them. Right now, he settled for a stern look. "I mean it, Granger. If I think he took liberties with you…"

"He won't. I'm making my excuses after an hour or so."

Draco nodded, pleased. "If all else fails, punch him. You're good at that."

"I didn't punch you, I slapped you. And you had it coming."

"That was no slap. It felt like taking a bludger to the nose."

She giggled. "The look on your face was…oh my, look at the time." She hurriedly took up the hairbrush and began running it through her hair, looking as innocent as possible. Draco shook his head, smiling nastily, and sat on the vanity stool.

"Come here, Hermione."

"I was only teasing."

"Of course you were. And I'm only making sure you know whose little girl you are. Hurry now, wouldn't want to get the slipper." His mudblood pouted but obeyed, and he carefully flipped up the hem of her dress, which was a dark red and very nice. He raised a hand and stopped.

"What is it?"

"Tights."

He lightly ran a hand down her bum. He liked the strange garment; it felt smooth and silky. He raised a hand and started whacking her. It was a very long two minutes for Hermione, but Draco quite enjoyed himself. The tights nicely muffled the sound, and the new sensation was pleasant.

"Much as I like you naked, Granger, I'm going to insist you wear clothes tonight. I'm unreasonable that way."

"I am going to wear clothes (oww!). It's just these stupid tights are trapping the heat and it really smarts."

Draco grinned. It was the kind of grin a spider gives a fly who's blundered into its web. Hermione noticed a second too late and her eyes widened just a little. Draco raised his wand and murmured something. The waistband of her tights glowed blue a second.

"What did you do?"

"Try not to look like you think I've killed you. It's just a ward to keep those up."

"They don't need a ward. They stay up on their own."

"Unless a naughty little girl takes them down. I rather like the idea that you'll be sitting on a burning bum all night. It'll encourage you not to linger."

Hermione looked ready to argue but Malfoy put a finger to her lips and shook his head. "It's late. Let me look at you."

The dress made her skin look creamy, and she was actually wearing facepaint. She'd even sprayed on some perfume from the vanity in the bedchamber. He reached out and cupped her face lightly for a second. "You look acceptable. Oh, almost forgot."

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box. "Hold out your arm, Granger."

She did, and he clasped something about her wrist. It was a bracelet, woven of the finest gold wire she had ever seen. He slid it on her and fastened it, warded that as well. Only he could take it off, a constant reminder of his presence and control. This felt like the completion of what had been started that night in the bed, with the taste of her perfumed skin on his lips. Earlier, even; hadn't this started that night in the library, that night his hand closed on hers as they swished a pact of silence and pain together? That had been desire made known; this, now, was desire made manifest.

She sensed it too. He held her hand a beat too long and then slowly brought it to his lips, passing the warm damp hand over his lips. She shuddered, and flashed on that night in the dark, writhing as he coaxed pleasure from her in damp waves. Her eyes were warm and heavy lidded, sweet with lust. "Whose little girl are you?"

"Yours, sir."

She fingered the bracelet gently. It felt both heavy and light. She'd never understood the expression about finding freedom in chains, but now it came on her with a flash as profound as religious awakening. By accepting it she had changed things, or he had, and now the path could be followed without fear. She'd made him a gift but it seemed pointless now. Her gift to him was her submission, her pain and humiliation offered in return for the exquisite loss of control. The bracelet bound them, a filament as weighty as the earth and as long as the sea.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Hermione."

"I have something for you. Two somethings."

She reached into her bag and closed her hand around her gift to him. "Close your eyes, sir. Please." He did, and she looped the heavy muffler round his neck. His hand went up to stroke the warm, thick knitted scarf she'd made and he smiled. "So you'll think of me when we're apart."

"Always."

She stood directly in front of him and braced a hand on his shoulder. She stretched as tall as she could go and held something over his head. "Open and look up, sir."

"Mistletoe?"

And then her mouth was on his, warm and damp. She tasted of tea and lemon and desire, and Draco wanted to take her bed and make her stiffen and groan as she had before. He had never been harder than he was at that moment. She pressed into him, all heat, and he sighed into her, hands in her hair. There would never be another moment as sweet as this, never a kiss that would overcome it. It was a kiss to measure all things by, measure and find them wanting. There would be moments of greatness but never would another moment have the untrammeled sweetness of this kiss.

Hermione took a step back. Her knees felt weak. Malfoy was staring at her in frank surprise. "I have to go." He took her arm and led her to the door of the Room. "I want you back no later than ten thirty, understood? Come in here, don't wait in the hall."

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

She vanished in a cloud of sweetly perfumed hair and rustling silk. He went inside and lay down, pretended he did not miss her warmth beside him. He wondered if tonight was the night. Finally he could take no more; throwing on his clothes, he went to do a little investigating. What could it possibly harm?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Severus Snape tightened his hold on his godson's arm. Draco had always been a stubborn child, but this was absurd. He glared ferociously and the boy quieted a little, still muttering darkly to himself. He tugged the unresisting boy into his office and shoved him in the nearest chair.

"I want to help you but only if you'll be honest with me, Draco. Were you behind that cursed necklace?"

" Are you the one who--"

"Destroyed it? Yes, thank Merlin. It was a stupid, childish attempt that might have killed someone you didn't intend. Didn't you stop and think?"

"The alternative is letting them in here. You think that's better?"

"Watch your tone, Mr. Malfoy. There are better ways, but you have to consider--"

"What better way? I have to kill him, I have to. There's no choice in it, not anymore."

Snape considered that Draco's choices had been made for him years earlier but said nothing. He pushed his chair back from the desk and warded the door. Draco shook his head to clear it; if he hadn't known better, he'd think Snape was preparing to—that was simply ridiculous. He was far too old, and anyway they were almost equals these days, at least in the eyes of their mutual master. Snape crooked a finger at his godson.

"To me, Malfoy. You remember how to do this, I daresay?"

Draco meant to make a scornful remark that would remind Snape that he was no docile eleven year old anymore. Instead, what came out was "Godfather, please!" Going over Snape's bony lap for one of his smackings was a Slytherin right of passage. Draco was deeply and utterly convinced that his father had given Snape lessons, because Snape was almost as good ( as terrible?) as Lucius at making sure you got the message.

"That's one. Don't make me get to three, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco stood and made his way around the desk. Setting his jaw, he bent over his godfather's lap and folded his hands in front of himself. Snape wrapped an arm about the boy's waist and pinned his legs.

"I haven't even done anything!"

Snape cracked his hand down and Malfoy jumped, cursing. "You were very disrespectful in the hallway, Draco. Filch would have dragged you in there if I hadn't intervened. Besides which, you might as well have been wearing a sign which read 'I'm up to something.' Oh, and that word is extra."

A minute later he felt his godson had gotten the message. He let the boy up. Draco's eyes were damp but he wasn't crying. Snape didn't want him to; he'd smacked him to shock him into a state of compliance, unhindered by the boy's ego. It had worked, because Draco dropped into the chair, wincing slightly, and said nothing.

"Are you ready to listen?"

"Yes, sir."

They spoke of Draco's plans for Dumbledore at some length. Then Snape sat back and said casually "And Miss Granger?"

"The mudblood? What about her?"

"Don't insult my intelligent, Mr. Malfoy. It's obvious there's something going on between you."

"The Dark Lord believes she might be a valuable source of--"

" I saw the two of you leaving the Room the morning break started last summer."

Draco whitened. "So what if there is?"

"Keep it up, Mr. Malfoy. I would have thought a boy your age wouldn't want to risk being smacked again like a first year out after curfew, but I've done it to students older than yourself."

That got his attention. Draco nibbled his lip. "I can't tell you most of it. We swore."

"She insisted on a Wizard's Oath? How wise."

"No, I did." The story leaked out in spits and spurts, carefully omitting the exact nature of what they'd been doing, skirting the Oath more closely than he might have liked. Snape's eyebrows nearly leapt off his face at various intervals. This was far, far worse than he would have ever imagined. He knew what the Dark Lord was playing at; the same thing had happened to him, hadn't it?

" And have you? Deflowered the girl?"

"Snape! Why is everyone so damned obsessed with this?" Snape had to bite his lip to keep from laughing aloud. The boy had a very valid point, but he was determined to make sure both his godson and Granger got out as unscathed as possible.

"Draco."

"Not yet." Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest and glowered, disgusted that everyone kept prying into his personal life this way. Snape rose and stepped into his storeroom, leaving Draco to brood for a moment. Then he came back, holding three small phials in his hands.

"The white is for her, the red for you. Take it ten minutes before the time comes and it will ease the way. And the green is a contraceptive."

"Thank you. Godfather?"

"Yes, Draco?"

Draco steeled himself. "How does one go about…"

Snape called on any divinity that might be listening to help him. He hoped Malfoy would laugh and announce it a joke. Or they'd be summoned. Or lightning would strike him dead. No such luck. Malfoy was still looking at him. Snape breathed deeply and said as calmly as he could " First off, Malfoy, it's important to…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Twenty minutes later Malfoy went back to meet his mudblood. His godfather had finally explained exactly what he needed to do, and it sounded disgusting. Having seen her naked, he'd had a much clearer idea of what to do than previously, but Snape had given step by step instructions, as dry as a Potions tome.

"So there'll be blood?"

"Not a significant amount, but enough to be noticeable. You must be careful when rupturing the hymen that--" Draco shuddered at the memory. He wasn't sure he'd ever sleep again.

"Sir? Granger says women get… urges. Is that true?"

Snape considered. "Muggles believe that. Traditional wizards do not. Beyond that, I couldn't say."

He tilted his head and let Draco writhe under his knowing, unreadable gaze. "Whatever is between the two of you, Malfoy, is your own affair. But the Dark Lord is not afraid to sacrifice a town to win himself a city."

"What does that mean?"

"It means if you see a chance to get her out of the country, take it. America might be far enough."

"But he's promised."

"Yes. I'm sure he has."

Draco snorted as he walked down the hall. That was Snape for you, helpful as a kick in teeth. He ran nearly headlong into Potter, who was lurking about the Room like a pig snuffling out a truffle. Draco jerked.

"What are you doing here, Potter?"

"Still a free country, isn't it?"

"Not for long if I have my way about it, now clear off."

"You clear off."

Potter reached into his sleeve and Draco did likewise, prepared for a duel. Suddenly a hand clamped down on each of their shoulders, and the sharp face of Severus Snape interjected itself like a cloud on a sunny day. "I am sure both of you have places to be…things to do." He shot Draco a pointed look and Draco felt the phials in his pocket a little more heavily. They nodded and he watched Potter slouch off, hands in pockets like a common ruffian.

Snape nearly shoved Draco away, and he half fell through the wall and into the Room. Snape watched him; a plan was slowly twisting together in the recesses of Snape's Byzantine mind. Draco was one of the few people Snape could be said to care about; it would be nice to see him happy.

Granger had taken the liberty of going inside. She was staring pensively at the fire in the library, sipping pumpkin juice. She had a brittle look about her, as though she would break if touched. Draco came and sat beside her on the couch. "How did it go?"

She jumped a little. "Oh! It was all right."

She sounded distant, half paying attention. Draco felt irritated and then it came together in his mind. "So what did you and Scar Head fight about?"

"What? Harry and I--"

"I'd tell the truth, because he and I had a nice little meeting in the corridor just now. I think he must have been looking for you."

"He wants some help with a project, that's all."

"What kind of project?"

She looked uneasy. Draco guessed she was deciding exactly how much of the truth to tell. Finally she turned and said very softly "May I ask you a favour?"

"Depends. What kind of favour?"

"Don't make me tell you."

"Absolutely not. We've been through this."

"Yes, but--"

"One, Hermione."

Hermione winced but soldiered on. "Hear me out, please?" When he said nothing she forced herself forward, wishing she could repay his kindnesses by telling him the truth. "I don't want to lie to you, Draco."

"Don't, then."

"It would be dangerous for you to know too much. What if they…" She trailed off, swallowing hard. Draco felt his irritation softening the slightest bit and forced it to harden itself. It was for her own good, however much it hurt now. It was like making a child take an especially foul potion; she'd whine and fuss and cry, but with the benefit of hindsight she'd understand and be grateful to him. "What if they make you tell?"

"That's for me to worry about."

"It isn't though. I don't want them to hurt you." She looked distressed, he noticed with some surprise. Not that it was bad, exactly, but Draco preferred to have been the one to upset her. He cupped her cheek for a second, prompting a small smile. He smiled back, and she squinted a little.

"Has my skin gone green?"

"You have a dimple. Right here." She gently ran a finger over the place by his mouth, and Draco felt a small thrill down his spine. She was so soft, and she smelled good. The phials in his pockets weighed a thousand pounds.

He took her hand and kissed it. "What a sweet little girl she is, to worry."

"I do worry. I just wish--"

"Wish what?"

"Things were different."

He nodded. "It's like you said. All we can do is take what we can get. Now what's this with Potter?"

"Please?"

Draco considered. It was good to keep the Dark Lord guessing about what his mudblood knew; if he thought she knew too much…On the other hand, Draco had to feed him enough information to make her usefulness clear. He turned his mind to it, and within a minute the answer popped into his head.

"All right, Hermione. You don't have to tell me. But I want to be with you while you research."

She blinked. He'd given in far too easily. "But you'll see what I'm--"

"Take it or leave it."

"You promise not to look at my notes?"

"Of course." Snape, on the other hand, was bound by no such promise. Draco would just magically copy them and give them over to be read. As a matter of fact…

"Have I ever told you Snape is my godfather?"

"He is?" She looked taken aback. He chuckled. "He's not such a berk once you get to know him, I swear. I'd be willing to be he'd give us a place to for you to do this."

"But then he'll know--"

"Let me handle that."

She suddenly narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to see if I'm up to no good?"

"You're always up to no good. And I can tell when my little girl is being naughty. You get this look about you."

"You wouldn't…?"

"Deal with you right there? Hmmm, that's an idea. Might keep you on the straight and narrow if you thought Snape'd get to see you over my lap."

"Malfoy!"

He laughed and gently tugged her to her feet. "Go to the bedroom, Hermione."

She obeyed and he found her sitting on the bed, still clothed. He kicked off his shoes and lay with his hands under his head, relaxing at last. "So what _did_ you and Potter fight about?"

"Ron. I'm not apologizing until he does."

"No? Good girl, I'm very pleased with you."

They sat in silence for a time until Hermione said almost shyly "Malfoy?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you ever—do you ever worry that people are only your friends because they want you to do something for them?"

Honestly, the answer was no. Draco didn't worry because he_ knew_ that was why people wanted to be around him. As he saw it, that was simply life. One got used to it. But looking at her earnest face, he couldn't say it. It would be counter-productive, he told himself, there's time to disabuse her later. "I suppose everyone does from time to time."

"Yes, but…sometimes I wonder if people really like _me_ or they just want my help."

"Make them help you first, then. Quid pro quo."

She blushed. " Oh, but I couldn't."

He quirked an eyebrow and she blushed harder. "It wouldn't be nice."

Malfoy sat up. "Granger! Nice?"

"Well, it isn't! It's not nice to--"

"To use people like they use you?"

"Once you put it that way, I guess it does seem a bit silly."

"You'd be a happier person if you stopped caring what people thought, Hermione."

"I know." She looked pensive and a little sad, which made Draco realize this was a bad topic. He couldn't deal with female emotion at the moment.

" Let's talk about this party, Hermione." He leaned over and gently flipped her over his lap, lifting her skirt. Granger yelped, unbalanced, and then lay still. She had learned not to fight him by now; she half thought it was no fun for him if she went along. Which put the question of whether to fight him or not in a whole new light, really.

"So you were a good girl tonight?" He pushed the skirt of her dress up and patted her arse. Even through the tights, he could feel the warmth. She nodded, squirming gently against his mid-section, and he put an arm about her waist as Snape had done.

"Yes, sir."

"McLaggen was a gentleman?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did he try to touch my little girl?"

"No, sir. He spent most of the evening chatting with Gwenog Jones."

Draco frowned. "He invited you and then ignored you all night? Hardly gallant of him."

"It was just as well. After he tried to get me under the mistletoe--"

SMACK! "You said he didn't try to touch you."

"Oww! He never tried to grope me. Just kiss me."

"Did you let him?" SMACK!

"Ouch! No, sir. I hid behind some curtains."

Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack

"That's good. If I thought my little girl had let that wretched idiot kiss her, she'd have to go get a nice long switch, wouldn't she? I wonder what it might feel like over these tights."

Hermione twisted as his hand found a tender sit spot and spent the next few seconds giving it tragically undivided attention. The stupid tights were holding all the heat in, and she rued the day her Mum had gotten them for her. From now on it was all knee socks all the time, no matter how strange she would look. Perhaps she'd look into a nice pair of suspenders, or even—

"I said, I wonder how a switch would feel over these stocking things. What do you think, Hermione?"

"Oh no please no I was good I promise please no switch sir please."

"Of course you haven't. But it's a tradition, isn't it? Last night before break I always give my little girl some nice stripes to help her remember to behave over holiday."

He could feel her trembling very slightly against his leg. "Calm down, Granger. It isn't that bad."

He absently put a hand to the small of her back and held it, silently letting her know he was there. It never failed to amuse it when her voice took on that soft, almost childlike quality, especially in this position. At these moments he felt his total power, but lately it was, if no less thrilling, heavier than it had been. Yes, it was fun and games, but his training was finally paying off, and he liked the person she was becoming under his tutelage.

Hermione pressed her face into the plush eiderdown. She knew it was stupid to get upset, but she couldn't take it back now."It's just that you've always saved that for punishment. I feel as though I've done something wrong."

"Have you?"

"No."

Draco sighed. "Granger, you know I'm not going to do anything that would really hurt you. Don't you?"

She nodded. "I do. I just…I _really _hate it."

He chuckled. "That's the idea, my girl. It's effective, isn't it, in getting you to think things through? Be honest, now."

It was. Much as she resisted admitting it, Hermione had found herself stopped in her contemplation of questionable actions more than once with the sobering thought that Malfoy would send her switch hunting( or for the brush or the spatula) if she was found out. Like a shadow, he was always there for her now, a presence that warned and comforted simultaneously.

"Yes, sir."

"We both know you need a reminder, Hermione. How about this: You and I will go and choose a switch…or you may get the hairbrush. But if you get the brush, you'll get a good slippering as well, because we both know your discipline is not up for negotiation, don't we?"

Hermione dropped her head and groaned, prompting another chuckle from Malfoy. His hand was still on her back, and now it began to slide up and down slightly. Despite the dreadful predicament she found herself in, she relaxed into his hand.

"All right, little girl, which one is it going to be?"


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Love to reviewers**

**SEX SEX SEX! For real this time!**

**Seriously, in my quest for making things as lifelike as possible, I've done my best to accurately reflect the first time. It's not neat and it's not pretty.**

**This was hard to write--I think I'm the only person ever who had trouble getting teenagers to have sex ;) **

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXAfterword they lay in the stillness, intertwined under the covers in a damp cloud of limbs. Neither could quite look at the other. Hermione's head was pillowed on Draco's narrow chest, and his hand was between her shoulder blades in the old place. The world was calm and still, and for this instant they were the only ones in it. War and sorrow were far from them; there was only that sense of completion, the feeling that the outside world had shrunk, would fit perhaps in the shell of an egg.

They'd undressed under the covers. Draco had insisted on it; Hermione had obediently stripped off her dress and slip and bra, and finally the hated tights. He'd made her close her eyes while he stripped to his pants. He'd never been naked or even semi-naked in the presence of a woman before. Her body felt warm and hilly against him as he pulled the eiderdown over them both. This close he could smell perfume and face powder, lip rouge and pumpkin juice. He felt momentarily glad he'd eaten a number of violet sweets beforehand, and shaved carefully; it would be awkward to worry about his grooming now.

Hermione winced as a bony knee struck hers. She thought it silly they couldn't just look at one another, but Malfoy had been so serious and so unwilling to entertain discussion about it that she didn't argue. His skin was cold against her, but quite soft, softer than she might have though. His heart was hammering. His hands on her shoulders were damp.

Poised above her on the bed, Draco gave her the twin phials from Snape feeling as though this was the catalyst of something great and exciting. His hand hesitated very slightly, his mouth opening to suggest maybe it would be better to do it later. Hermione shook her head, her face white and strained.

"Before I lose my nerve. Please."

He downed his phial at the same time she did. The most amazing thing happened-all the pleasure in his body, the golden light that flared his nerves and illuminated this strange course he had chosen for himself, for them—drained down. His already prodigious erection grew painful. Granger's eyes were heavy lidded, her lips damp where she'd licked them. She tilted her head back and took a deep breath. He pressed his mouth to her throat and felt, like the unfurling wings of a new butterfly, the little beating of her heart.

"If it hurts, tell me."

Hermione tried to swallow. Her mouth was like cotton. She didn't know what to do with her hands; finally she put them on either side of herself. Malfoy was gently inserting a finger inside her—she felt the intrusion but it was distant, as though it were happening to someone else. A moment later there was another finger, she stiffened, not with pleasure but with something like pain.

"Does it hurt?"

"Yes. No. It feels—tight. Please be gentle."

He nodded and found that little nerve center again by touch. She relaxed slightly. Draco felt a moment of guilt—he knew he shouldn't encourage this kind of pleasure for pleasure's sake. It was quite enough that she receive him with a dignified quiet and polite acceptance of the situation.

He'd been well taught when it came to traditional modes of thought; that urge in him that called for respecting the old ways was powerful. It was fighting now with another urge, equally strong, to ease the way for himself. She liked this; it would make her more tractable if he gave her a little treat before he did this painful, embarrassing thing to her. It was all for the best, he reminded himself. She would be grateful at the end. He was doing this to win them both a future.

He stroked a bit harder, resolving not to think about it until after, and her movements changed. Her breathing was high, fast, almost sobbing. He rubbed just a little harder and a great surge of something hot and wet and sticky oozed onto the fingers buried in her. He almost gagged, disgusted by the sensation and the fact it was a mudblood—his mudblood, which made it acceptable but not easy—he had his duty to do and he would do it. Once she'd been taught it would be better—once she knew that the only pleasure that existed in this for her was that of obedience and servitude.

"M-Malfoy"

"Say it, Granger. Say it louder."

"Malfoy"

"Louder, I said."

She gasped hugely and he felt her body contracting beneath his fingers. Her eyes were closed, her face damp with sweat. He pressed his lips to her stomach and tasted the salty taste of her skin, the ghost of that lotion she wore.

"Draco". She went loose about him, the contractions ebbing and then ceasing entirely. Draco carefully positioned himself between her knees. A little of the flush left her cheeks, and her hands clutched the bedsheets with near panicky tightness.

"You know what's to happen?"

"Yes. Do you?"

He tried to look scornful. "Of course I do. This might be uncomfortable, but you'll need to bear it bravely. I'll try to be quick." She nodded. Draco took her advice, seeing no irony in it; he guided himself inside her and, taking a breath, thrust.

Hermione felt a great, terrible sense of fullness, that she was being invaded. Above her Malfoy was moving rapidly back and forth. She felt no pain because the potion had blocked her pain receptors, but she also felt none of the visceral rapture she'd felt when he stimulated her. Only a sense of his motion, rocking like the sea, and the disconcerting notion that he was sharing her body. She didn't mind as much as she'd thought she would. As confusing as her feelings about Malfoy—Draco, she thought to herself, it's Draco while we're like this—she had agreed to this, and it was interesting, if not the wondrous experience she had been led to expect.

Draco was in a bath of sensation that would have left him speechless if he'd had the concentration to talk. At first it was almost painful—her body closed about him like a Venus Flytrap, tight and hot, the slime of her insides allowing him to slide more freely. Then she'd relaxed or something, because he became aware of pressure building within himself. The squeezing was almost comfortable. In fact, the longer he did it the better it felt. It was as though her body had been built for his. He went a bit faster, aware that Granger had stopped moving and pleased by it. It meant she was learning; this had been the right thing to do after all. This was the culmination of her lessons, the ultimate proof that he owned her. Even her body bowed to his superior strength and dominance.

Above Hermione, Malfoy went still. He was breathing hard, face pink with effort. He suddenly rolled off, still panting. There was something sticky running down her thighs. Hermione lay still, fighting a sense of disappointment. Was this all it was, then? She knew she should be grateful—he'd made sure she'd been satisfied before he took his pleasure, and the potions had assured her no pain and no pregnancy, but she'd thought it would be…different somehow.

For himself, Draco felt both profane and transcendent. Like Hermione, he'd had the perception of sharing her body, melding into her for that moment when everything stood still save the frantic beating of his heart. Unlike her, his childhood training had reasserted himself and he wondered whether his body was defiled. He understood now what it meant to ruin a woman—he'd marked her indelibly, and the thought that someday another man might do the same was unbearable.

"Granger? Are you all right?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, fine. I'd rather like to clean up, if that's okay."

His mudblood was looking at her hands, unsmiling. Another man might have felt concern, fear she'd been hurt. He didn't. His great pride allowed for nothing in the moment except the moment itself.

She made to stand up. "May I have my bath now?"

"What for?"

"I feel damp."

He wished and a dressing gown appeared. Turning his head, he felt her stand and don it. He wished one for himself as well, and closed it tightly against her gaze, making sure she caught him tugging at the bandage on his left arm. Hermione's face creased a little. She didn't reach out, but Draco felt touched by her concern all the same. Only slightly, of course. It wasn't as though he needed her sympathy. But it showed him even further that his methods were effective: Granger had rediscovered her gentle feminine nature because of him.

He followed behind her, watching her arse shift as she walked, imagining the hot, light pink stripes gyrating with each step. More than anything, Draco longed for the day he could openly show his ownership of her. Not just welts and bruises, but everything, show the whole world in everything she did who controlled her and kept her in her place.

"Think I'll join you." The tub was full of huge white bubbles that would obscure everything. Draco felt glad. He didn't exactly feel ashamed of what they had done, but he felt now the whole weight of his mission. She was his in the most basic way imaginable; now he'd have to do it to make sure no one else ever tried to embrace her as he had done.

They turned their backs to one another to disrobe. Hermione found herself blushing for no real reason; it was silly to be shy after everything they'd done together. All the same, she averted her eyes as he climbed into the huge tub and sat down .

Malfoy's body was as pointed and pale as the rest of him. He was slightly built, almost hairless. She noticed him rubbing his forearm in a distracted way, careful never to touch the actual bandage.

" What happened?"

"Goyle knocked me into a wall sconce in the Common Room, the idiot."

He grimaced slightly as he spoke. She reached out a hand and gently touched his other arm. "Is there anything I can do?"

Malfoy shook his head. "It'll heal. It's his hide, else." He picked up the ewer and motioned for her to lie back a bit. It was a very good angle for appreciating her assets, really. Not that he would be vulgar enough to say it aloud, but it helped ease a little of the essential weirdness of what had just happened away. He hadn't known what to expect, but he'd thought he'd feel totally changed—more manly and mature, more confident. He had, after all, had a virgin now.

After she was clean she took the ewer from his hand. "Your turn." Malfoy raised his eyebrows but allowed her to wash his hair for him. It had been years since another person had touched him this way; it was actually very soothing. He thought her hands were shaking very slightly.

"Something bothering you, Granger?"

"No. Nothing. Were we wrong?"

"What?"

"Wrong to do it. Was it wrong of us?"

He turned around and looked at her. "You've picked a bad time to have an attack of conscience, my girl."

"I'm not. I mean, I don't feel guilty, I just don't want…I mean…what if everything changes?"

Malfoy sighed. He'd understood that witches were emotional, childlike creatures, but this was too much. He knew Granger; she'd work herself into a tizzy over this, sure as sure. He motioned for her to hide her eyes and stood, stepping onto the mat and drying himself as quickly as possible. Holding a towel up, he turned back to his mudblood. "Stand up, Hermione."

She obeyed him, not caring she was naked ( a clear sign he was acting just in time. Really, he had to remember to teach her shame at some point). Wrapping her like a child, he stood her on the mat and quickly dried her hair. Still wrapped, he pointed her to the bedroom with a smack to the backside. "Wait for me beside the bed."

Hermione was dripping onto the thick carpet, leaving some areas a darker maroon than others. She felt stupid, all bundled up like a little kid. Probably she should have kept her mouth shut; when she worried, it was like a hammer in her brain, pounding and pounding, and Malfoy about the only person she could confide in. She shouldn't have said anything, she should have just—

The door flew open and Draco crossed the room at a fast, hard clip. He'd learned the trick from watching Snape, and it served him in good stead now. He stood beside her and took her chin in his hand, using the height difference to make her feel a little uncomfortable.

"Do muggles have middle names?"

"Yes?" She blinked, confused by the strange question. He wanted her naked for this? Malfoy was nodding slowly, apparently pleased. Next he'd be asking about what they ate for breakfast, or something like that.

"What's yours?"

"Jane."

"Hermione Jane Granger. I like it."

Then, nearly flinging himself on the bed, he got a good hold on her wrist and tugged her over his lap. The towel fell open, prompting a squeak from Hermione, who didn't like where this was going a bit.

Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack

"OWWSORRYSTOP!"

Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack

"Hermione Jane Granger, you have been a very naughty little girl. You're going to be smacked and smacked hard."

Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack

"I'm going to hold you over my knee and whack you until I think you've learnt your lesson you, and there isn't a thing you can do about it. You're only a little girl, and it's up to me to make choices for you."

"OWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

"Right now I've decided you're getting the smacking of your life, and then you're going to get the slipper and I'll make you even sorrier. You won't sit for a week by the time I'm done with you, you bad, incorrigible little girl."

He smacked her until she was bawling freely, tears running down her face. She had kicked so much she was quite dry. He let her lie still a few minutes to calm down, face down over his lap. His hand was resting on the small of her back. Hermione lifted a tearstained face from the covers and said tearfully "M-Malfoy?"

Whack! "How do you address me, little madam?"

"Sir."

"Yes, Hermione?"

"What d-did I do? Are you angry with me?"

"Not at all. I simply decided you needed a good hard whacking, and so that's what you're going to get. Now I want you to get me the slipper, and look sharp about it." Hermione started to rise and then gasped. "I haven't got a nightgown on."

"I'm not looking at you, now hurry up." Draco averted his eyes a little as she sidled rapidly across the floor, hands hiding all her interesting bits. Peeking a bit, he could see a few faint stripes on her arse. He'd only given her six—he could see now that half measures were a mistake.

His pet flung herself over his lap. She knew it was silly, but being wholly naked still didn't feel right. At least when they'd—well, it was under a blanket. He put his arm about her and tugged her close. She was grateful he'd taken the time to don pajamas. It would have been too awkward for them both to be undressed.

"I'm going to whack you until you cry and kick and promise to be good. And then I'm going to put you right to bed, so you can cry out that sore, burning bottom like the contrite little girl you're going to be. What do you say to me for giving you what you need?"

"T-thank you. Sir."

"Good girl."

SMACK SMACK SMACK

SMACK SMACK SMACK!

SMACK SMACK SMACK!

"AHOWWWWWWWW!PLEAASEEEE!"

"I especially like smacking right where you sit, because I know just how much you hate it when I whack there with the slipper."

SMACK SMACK SMACK

SMACK SMACK SMACK!

SMACK SMACK SMACK!

"Look at you kick! Are you beginning to wish you'd been a good girl? Being naughty doesn't feel very nice , does it?"

SMACK SMACK SMACK

SMACK SMACK SMACK!

SMACK SMACK SMACK!

"Are you going to behave from now on?"

"YES!SOSORRY!"

He put the slipper down and just let her cry. It had been a very big night for them both, and Draco rather blamed himself for letting her get overwrought. On the other hand, correcting her was fun, and now that she'd been straightened out, he thought she'd be good the whole holiday.

Hermione was still crying, but softly. Her bum was on fire, but that amazing sense of deep white thoughtlessness had taken over. All she had to do was lie very still and wait for him to either punish her some more or let her up. His hand was resting on the small of her back. Malfoy wasn't going anywhere—he might hurt her and make her weep, but he wasn't going anywhere.

"Are you my little girl?"

"Yes, sir."

"Who knows what's best for you?"

"You do, sir."

" Do you think that's going to change just because of what we did, Hermione Jane?"

"No, sir."

Draco gently righted her and then stood. A nightgown appeared and she gratefully shrugged into it. He pointed to her side of the bed. "Get right under and lie on your belly." Obeying, she sighed as she burrowed under the warm eiderdown, tears still running down her cheeks. He climbed in right after, and produced a phial from his bedside table. She sat up enough to take it and then lay back down, feeling an immediate calm sweeping through her.

"Soothing Syrup. I want my little girl to have a good night's sleep. Tomorrow is a very big day, and she needs her rest. And if she's very good, we'll see about a little lotion before we go. Not salve, because she needs to sit on a hot arse during the train ride, but some lotion ought to help just a little."

"Going to miss you."

Draco put a hand between her shoulder blades. "Shhh. Time for good little girls to be in dreamland."

"I mean it."

"I know you do." He did, too. He slide closer and guided her so her head was on his chest. She was all but asleep. He pressed his face into her hair and breathed. He would miss her, but not admit to it. He wouldn't give her that kind of power over him, not in a million years. For all he was doing this for her, for all he had agreed to do that she was tied up in, at the end of the day, she was still just a woman. Someone to be cared for and protected against herself. And he had made her that way. It was the best Christmas gift ever.

Smiling, he drifted to sleep, twined with his mudblood, the stillness of the room broken only by the faint sounds of breath, by the pounding of two hearts pressed together, beating, for a few brief hours, as one.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Love to reviewers, particularly a kind lady/gentleman who gives me awesome ideas. I'm not mentioning names because every time I do, that person stops commenting. You know who you are and you've helped me immeasurably.**

**This chapter is heavy on Draco-logic of an especially hypocritical nature, quite intentional.**

**I've also incorperated a great work of American literature which I love very much. Ten house points and a chocolate frog to whomever can name the book. The section marked by the asterix is a direct quote.**

**WARNING: The sex from here on out is likely to be frankly described and quite graphic.**

**To clarify**:**The timing for this is a little strange, so the way I figure it, they met at ten pm. He left at eleven and returned around one. They woke again at four and then slept until eight or so. Hope this helps.**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At least, Draco comforted himself, the mudblood was safely asleep. As far as he knew she was, anyway, and that had to be good enough for the nonce. He hated kneeling on the cold floor of whatever house the Dark Lord was sheltering in that week. Most of the old Pureblood families had lost their fortunes decades or centuries earlier, and the family manse tended to be a decrepit wreck, which was semi-bearable in summer. In winter the houses were ice boxes, and since the Dark Lord couldn't abide stuffiness, there were never enough heating charms

As though his thoughts were a magnet, the Dark Lord turned. "Draco."

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Come forward, Draco. I would have a word." He stood and walked to the front, stomach clenching like the fist of a dead man. The Dark Lord chuckled. "One would almost think you anticipated being punished, Draco."

"I am at your pleasure, my Lord."

"You are more used to giving than receiving these days, isn't that right?"

Draco felt his face burning. Looking at the hem of his robe, he murmured a soft affirmative. The Dark Lord put out a spiderish hand and drew Draco's chin up. Draco cringed a little; it was terribly humiliating to have done to him, especially because he was accustomed to doing it to Granger.

"Louder, please. Poor Wormtail is quite deaf." Pettigrew gave a servile smile and said nothing, clearly enjoying the Malfoy whelp's discomfort. From the front row, Bellatrix's insane laughter got louder.

"Yes, my Lord."

"We shall have to speak about that at some length. For the moment, Draco, may I ask a favor?"

"Anything, my Lord."

"Yaxley has displeased me.' He gestured and a trembling man came forward, eyed nailed to a spot on the floor. " Prove your loyalty to me, Draco."

"How, my Lord?"

The Dark Lord's face twisted. Draco realized he was smiling.

"Cruciate him, Draco."

Draco's heart was a terrible dry stone in his chest. He didn't want to hurt Yaxley, who'd never done anything to him. The Dark Lord leaned close to the white faced youth and said softly "If you want the girl, Draco, you'll do it."

He did.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione huffed and rolled to her side. Malfoy'd been gone hours, simply hours, and that after hurrying her into bed saying he tired. When she'd woken, expecting to snuggle into him, she'd found herself trying to snuggle air. Blinking, she'd sat, only to feel a gentle, icy cold hand push her back onto her pillow.

"Shhh, back to sleep. I'll only be a little while."

"Malfoy, what--"

"I need to take care of something. Wait here. And stay in bed, no lights."

He buttoned his jacket and sat to pull on his socks and loafers. She'd tried to argue with him but he gave her a sharp, oddly intense look that was at odds with his usual air of cocky insolence. Whatever it was, he was taking it more seriously than she'd ever known him to take anything. His jaw was set as he pulled on his socks and loafers. She opened her mouth to ask what was the matter when he's said tightly "Hermione, _please_." That did it. If Malfoy was being polite it had to be some kind of emergency.

That had been forever ago. There was no clock, but she knew it had to be very late. She'd tried to go back to sleep, but her curiosity was piqued and she couldn't settle down. She put her mind to the task and considered; he'd said no lights and no getting up. She was, after all, in the Room, and she had a wand.

Ten minutes later she was comfortably ensconced under the eiderdown, wand in mid lumos. She'd chosen a muggle book she'd always enjoyed as a child. Hermione adored reading under the covers—it felt like being in a little cave. It was a bit juvenile, she thought with a slight flush, but who was here to see?

She cuddled into the warm, yielding mattress. It felt so good, so safe. She rather wished Malfoy were here; he was one of the few people her own age that could have appreciated what she was reading. It was cozy under the covers, too. The light was mellow and small, and every line of text evoked a comforting memory of her Dad. Her Dad loved literature, and he'd read her this book when she was nine.

Her eyes suddenly prickled slightly with tiredness. She shook her head to clear it and kept reading. Twice she found herself nodding off. The third time she ended the lumos and put her wand on the pillow, then set head down, book in her arms, smelling the clean sweet smell of good old paper and ink, the ghost hands that had once held the book, the herbal scent of the linens. She'd only close her eyes a second…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He almost fell atop her. He hadn't noticed the blanket covered lump in his tiredness. The Room had provided him a calming draught, he drank it at a gulp and then set down the rock crystal phial with a clink, the tremors in his hands subsiding slightly. He knew he ought to undress but hadn't the energy. Snape had taught him a glamour to hide his Mark; he still felt strange about potentially exposing it. He didn't want it touching Granger for no reason he could articulate. Kicking off his shoes he went to lie down, wondering why his pet was taking so damned long in the lav.

His elbow hit something warm and soft, and she sat at once, groping for her wand, until he said drily "Glad to see you, too."

"Draco? What time is it?"

"Late. Move over, I'm lying down."

She obediently rolled to the side and he nearly fell into the bed. Hermione noticed how tense he was, how drawn. She reached out and hand and hesitantly felt his brow, When she wasn't rebuffed her hand crept down to his cheeks.

Draco knew he ought to stop this. She couldn't simply touch him without permission, and anyway he wanted her to go to sleep so he could hold her without having to admit that was what he was doing. He opened his mouth to say something but the whole awful weight of the evening crashed onto him. Shuddering, he didn't fight her. Her hands were warm and soft. It felt so good to be here with her.

Hermione moved a little closer. She'd never seen him like this. He looked younger, less in control this way. She began to undo the buttons on his jacket one at a time, and when he did not protest, gently tugged at his arm to get him to sit.

"Granger."

"You look terrible, Malfoy. Let me help you."

"_Granger_."

"You're the one who's always worrying about dirt from outside on the skin. It can't be very clean to put street clothes on the sheets we sleep on." Hermione smiled a bit as he dragged himself upright and let her pull the jacket off. His jersey followed and then his undershirt as well.

"Are you sure the Hat didn't say 'Slytherin'? That was too clever by half for Gryffindor."

Hermione sniffed and ignored him, wondering whether she dared unfasten his trousers. Her hands found his belt buckle and struggled with it until he batted her hands away and undid it himself. She drew the belt from his beltloops and then carefully unhooked his trousers. He lifted up to allow her to pull them free. After a brief internal struggle she hooked her fingers in the waistband of his pants and tried to tug those down as well.

Draco went still. His hands flew down and seized the waistband. "Hermione!"

"You do it to me all the time."

"Yes, when you're getting punished. It's hardly appropriate otherwise."

Hermione giggled softly. "After everything we've done, you don't want to take your pants off in front of me? I didn't mean for us to do anything."

He arched an eyebrow. "No?"

"Unless you want to." Hermione honestly didn't know whether she wanted to or not. It had been all right, she supposed, but in all honesty she still felt a little funny about it. Nor did Malfoy seem all that interested. He wrinkled his brow like he did whenever he was deep in thought.

"I don't know…that contraceptive might've worn off by now."

"We could do something besides…that, if you wanted to."

He sat on his elbows. "Something like what, Granger?"

"It's a muggle thing. Can I show you?" She felt brave and reckless and a little bad. She'd offered once and he'd refused; now that they'd done_ that_ together, surely he would open to trying new things? He nodded slowly, clearly unsure. She carefully pulled the pants down and put them with the rest of his clothes. Then, very gently, she closed her hand around him.

Draco gasped. "Granger!" He meant to tell her to stop, he really did, Except that it felt good. Excellent, actually. She must have taken it as encouragement, because her motion increased. He could feel the tension draining from his body; a small part of his brain was screaming at him to make her stop but he pushed it aside and concentrated on possibly the most erotic thing he'd ever seen.

Above her, Draco had a strange look that was half pleasure and half something else. Her motion slowed and then stopped entirely. "Do you want me to stop?"

"I-I don't know." Draco rarely felt anything like guilt, but right now he was experiencing something unnervingly close. He knew he shouldn't let her do this; should correct her immediately, in fact. It was wrong. By letting her touch him this way, he was as good as treating her like a whore.

But it felt wonderful. And she didn't mind. She wanted to, which didn't exactly hurt his pride. It struck him that since the circumstances of the whole thing were so odd, perhaps some of the rules might be relaxed just until everything righted itself.

He gave this a little thought. He was working very hard to train all the pernicious muggle influences out of her, and doing a bang up job, really. Her behavior was ten thousand percent better since he'd started helping her. On the other hand, it might be easier to change her behavior in big ways if she were allowed to retain small things a while longer, like allowing a child to carry a favorite ratty blanket about.

That this directly benefitted him never consciously occurred to him. Only that it would be good for both of them. Besides, with more instruction and help, she'd soon lose the urge to do these things. Which, he told himself sharply, was as it should be. She'd be happier and he'd be able to refine his control of her to a degree he could only dream of right now.

He opened his knees and she knelt, pumping him. Something grayish leaked from him, just a bit. Hermione almost pulled her hand back but restrained the urge. It was hot and drippy but, she told herself, he'd done it for her despite all his strange inhibitions. She ignored the slight queasy catch in her stomach and soldiered on. Malfoy was looking at the ceiling, hands behind his head, almost ignoring her. He was very hard beneath her hand. She rubbed a little at the head of his member and he groaned.

"No, no, it's good. Do it again."

She obliged, and was rewarded with more leakage and a loud sigh of pleasure. He instructed her occasionally, and she used his sounds and gestures as guides. When his orgasm came, she was unprepared. He went very still and then a thick hot gush of white that went everywhere. She couldn't help it; she recoiled, gagging, biting her lip to keep from crying out.

Draco felt a hot flush of shame. He hadn't meant to do that, and as amazing as it had been to watch, he definitely felt it was taking things too far. Granger looked ready to sick up, staring in revulsion at his emission all over her hand. He quickly took up his wand and scourgified his stomach and groin. He tried to sound calm and soothing. "Hold out your hands, Hermione, and we'll clean them."

She did, and the mess vanished at once. Hermione blinked. "That was---is that always what it's like?"

"Yes." Draco couldn't look at her. He felt as though he'd made her dirty ( which was stupid, she being a mudblood to start with). He summoned his pants and put them on, feeling his lack of masculine self control and continence keenly. The totality of events from the whole night piled up in his chest and made him feel as though he were drowning in despair. He couldn't even master himself adequately to prevent from soiling his mudblood.

"Was it all right?"

He nodded curtly. "Yes, but next time I do wish you'd be more careful."

Hermione drew in a deep breath. "I didn't know you didn't want to do that."

"It's not that I—it isn't good for you. Or me, for that matter."

"Not good how?"

"It's not clean stuff, Granger. Better you have as little contact as possible with it."

"But you did it inside me. How is it different?"

"It just is." He tried to roll over but was stopped by a hand on his arm. She was giving him the look that promised a long talk. He wasn't in the mood for a long talk. He was in the mood for sleeping with her crushed into him, safe in the knowledge that only he could touch her this way.

"That isn't an answer."

"Like hell it isn't. " He rolled over and made to ignore her. She tried to shake him but he was rigid, like stone. Hermione felt as though she'd been slapped. It would have hurt less if he had hit her. She scooted as far away as she could and closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she been taught. After a few minutes she went limp, asleep, but on the other side of the bed Draco was not sleeping. When he did sleep he was restless. He saw things.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Yaxley was convulsing, back arching and relaxing, legs spasming wildly. He'd voided his bladder and bowels, and the foul smell pervaded the room. His screams had become gagging moans. He'd bitten his lip or tongue in his agonies and the saliva which drooled from his slack mouth was a sickly pink. His eyes were pleading, begging for it to end, burning into the whey faced boy.

"Excellent, Draco. Your aunt has proven herself a very apt teacher."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Enough for now. I would have a word with you." Wormtail opened the door to the study and Draco dutifully followed. The door slammed behind them and the Dark Lord seated himself behind the desk.

"What progress have you made with Dumbledore?"

Draco felt himself going white. He tried to explain his plan to the Dark Lord, but Voldemort seemed less than receptive. "Poison, Draco? Give Dumbledore a bit more credit than that. Surely you can find a way less dependent on chance?"

"Yes, my Lord. I had an idea to use the vanishing cabinet at Borgin and Burkes…"

The Dark Lord liked this one better. "I'd prefer something with less risk, but I suppose the cabinet has its charms.' He frowned for a moment, considering. Then he smiled slowly. "And the mudblood, Draco. How is she?"

Draco didn't want to say. He didn't want this creature talking about his mudblood, thinking about her, any of it. She was his, and Snape's cryptic remarks about America suddenly made much more sense. The Dark Lord was waiting for an answer.

"She's well, my Lord. I did as you commanded and …"

The Dark Lord gave Draco a slow nod. "Very good. And was she receptive to your attentions?"

"She behaved as I have trained her, my Lord."

" I trust she made no serious objections, then?"

"Her modesty compelled her to try, but she's learned to obey me."

"How strange she'd fight you. Mudblood women are usually whores. Your training must have been very through."

"I tried the best I could, my Lord."

The Dark Lord smiled again. "No doubt. Now tell me everything."

He couldn't disobey, and so he did that as well.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione felt something hard poking her leg. She realized she'd forgot the book under the covers. She reached down and pulled it out, meaning to set it on the bedside table beside her wand. Malfoy stopped her, took the book from her hands and opened it.

"What's this my little girl's been looking at?" Draco had woken in a much better mood. He felt a bit bothered by everything that had happened the night before, but ultimately it was just that, the night before. He'd assumed Granger would be over it. He had a lot to learn about these things, and she was about to teach him.

"A muggle book."

"I see that. 'He opened the book and skimmed it a moment. "Weighty stuff. Not many pictures, either. I would have thought my little girl'd prefer something with pretty pictures to look at. Maybe one of those stupid talking unicorn books girls seem to like." Draco preferred masculine books about pirates and whatnot, no cute fluffy animals or mooning about. Granger said nothing, her face a mask.

"I think someone woke up on the wrong side of bed. We'll have to see about adjusting that attitude, don't you think?" He smirked, expecting her to protest or fuss or do something funny. He wouldn't in a million years have guessed what she actually did, which was flop over his lap almost bonelessly.

"What do you think you're playing at?"

"Just go ahead and do it, Malfoy. You're going to anyway. I just want to go back to sleep."

Draco felt annoyed. He in no way made the connection between his behavior the night before and her strange conduct; he believed she had found a new and perverse method of rebellion. He set his jaw a moment, trying to figure out what to do.

"Usually I have to drag you kicking and screaming, Hermione. What prompted this sudden change of heart?"

"I want to go back."

He shook his head, unseen because she was staring at the sheets. "Maybe I'll keep you awake for a while."

"Fine."

He huffed hugely. "I don't know what's come over you, Granger, but two can play this game. Go and stand in the corner while I decide how to deal with you." He helped her stand and pointed her toward 'her' corner. Draco figured ten or fifteen minutes in the corner and a sound smacking would fix whatever the problem was.

Fortunately, Draco's patience was roughly on a par with his subtly, so he lasted exactly six and a half minutes before his curiosity overcame his resolve to break her stubbornness. She was standing stock still, arms crossed over her chest, shivering slightly. He rose and came up behind her, resting a hand on each shoulder.

"I daresay this is the first anyone has had trouble getting you to talk, Granger. Perhaps I'll sell the secret to Potter."

She still said nothing, eyes straight ahead.. He trailed a finger down her neck to her spine. Involuntarily she jerked. He smiled to himself. They were getting somewhere.

"If you didn't want it, you should have said."

He blinked. Was she upset about that? For a second he was annoyed with her. It was unreasonable for her to take on about little things; he had important things to do and sometimes he would be short with her. That was just how it was. That he wouldn't have tolerated such an excuse from her didn't cross his mind, or if it did, it was dismissed.

"I told you respectable women don't--"

"That's stupid."

"It isn't."

"Do respectable women do what we did after the party?"

Hermione kept the tremor from her voice with great force of will. She felt glad she was too angry to cry, because the last thing she wanted was to prove him right about women. She lifted her chin and put back her shoulders, determined to tough it out.

This was, Draco thought, the confirmation of every theory he'd ever read that talked about female irrationality. Why was she so upset about this? It was less bother and frustration for her, and anyway, he was trying to keep her from polluting herself. Would a little gratitude be too much to ask?

"I was trying to keep you from dirtying yourself. I know muggles don't--"

"Then how can you do it and stay clean?"

Draco sometimes found himself wishing that he graft Parkinson's knowledge and blood status onto Granger's good sense and intellect and…well, just Granger. He willed a chair and the armchair popped into being beside him. He flung himself into it and motioned for her to get on his lap and she did, perhaps with less good grace than usual.

"When a man does that for himself, it's all right because he can't help it, like opening the floo on a fireplace to let the smoke out. It's a matter of health. It's not…indecent. But when there's a woman involved, the man has an obligation to contain himself."

"That's all well and good, but I still don't understand--"

"I'm getting to it. Stop interrupting me ."

Draco wished she would lean against him like she always did in this position. It was a tradition, and tradition must be upheld. And she was warm and soft, always a bonus. He slid a finger down her ribs and was rewarded with a jump and a very small giggle. "Draco!"

"I'd relax, then. Anyway, it's different because—well, it's a spiritual matter."

"I won't laugh."

"You do and I'll blister you with the bath brush, understand?" She nodded, eyes wide. This was one of the few things Malfoy had ever taken with apparent seriousness. She put her head against his shoulder in spite of herself. His presence was subconsciously soothing, and she hadn't slept long. Hermione associated him with good sleep, albeit unknowingly.

" Our bodies, Granger, belong to us. But a man's seed is a debt to posterity. He owes the ancestors not to waste it or give it to a woman who isn't worthy of it."

"So that's why purebloods don't marry people like me?"

Hearing it put so baldly, Draco winced almost imperceptibly. He'd been struggling with that for months, and in a sense the Dark Lord's orders had been a godsend. He could do it with much less guilt, but that hadn't stopped him from spending a long, cold time before the ancestral vaults, asking Malfoys past to overlook Hermione's filthy blood.

"It's different between you and I, Granger."

Hermione didn't ask. That intense look was on his face again, and it scared her a little. Instead, she listened to his heart beat in his chest. "So you can't do that for pleasure?"

"No."

"Never?"

"Never."

"Muggles do. Muggles do lots of things just because they feel good."

And that is why they're our inferiors, he thought but didn't say. "Like what?" Because one must know one's enemy. The presence of his mudblood, wearing only a thin linen gown, sitting on his lap, had absolutely nothing to do with his interest. Nothing.

"Sometimes muggle women let the man---" It was a very instructive few minutes, to put it mildly. Hermione recited everything she had ever been taught about sex in a clear, no nonsense voice that helped both of them feel less awkward. For his part, Draco was torn between fascination and disgust. No wonder she's so confused, he thought, if she grew up thinking that was normal.

"The mouth?"

"Yes."

"That's repellant. What happens when he --?"

"She swallows it."

He was silent with sheer aversion, at least for a moment. "That's vile. If you ever did a thing like that, you wouldn't sit down for a month. And that'd be after I soaped your mouth for an hour."

"For me to do that, you'd have to agree to it first. It's hardly a thing to happen spontaneously, Malfoy."

She gave a little more explanation. " Wait, _what_ was that? His _tongue_?"

"It's like with fingers, more or less."

"No, it isn't! My fingers don't have to go back in my mouth at some point!" Hermione couldn't take it any more. She burst out laughing, hard, and after a second he joined her. They laughed a long time, the final bit of ill feeling dissolving in their fit of mirth.

"I think a certain mischievous little girl's been having me on."

"No, I swear it's true. It's called--"

"I don't want to know." He raised her hand to his mouth and lightly kissed her knuckles. She sighed, wriggling. After everything he had just heard, he didn't know whether it made him want to do it or want to never do it again, but he enjoyed provoking a reaction

"Now, let's talk about this book my little girl was reading. I seem to remember putting you to bed. Why weren't you asleep?"

Hermione's wiggling increased just a little. "I have trouble getting back to sleep, so I thought I'd read instead. You said no lights and no getting up, and I didn't."

"I think this book warrants a closer investigation.. How am I to know whether it's something you ought to be reading?"

She blushed. "Malfoy! My father read it to me when I was nine, it isn't that bad."

"Oh, I don't know. Suppose my little girl should read something that frightens her? If she had a bad dream I wouldn't be there to make it better."

"It isn't that kind of book. It's very tame."

Malfoy smirked. "Your definition of tame isn't quite like anyone else's. What, this only has one or two Dark spells in it?"

She shook her head. "Look, summon it and I'll show you. Sir."

He raised her enough to swat her backside. "This is the second time you've nearly talked yourself into a smacking. I'd watch my step." Then he duly summoned the book, having made his point. She opened to the first page, only to have Malfoy take the book from her hands again and skim it, shaking his head.

"What kind of stupid punishment is that? Why don't they just kill her and be done with it?"

"Because it's worse for her to have to have to live with it. Besides, she had a baby."

Draco closed the book and cocked his head. "You think a book about a tart is appropriate reading material, little girl?"

"It's not about a—she's not, she just made a mistake. Listen to this part.'"She opened to her favorite section and read a little to him, pausing to explain at various points.

Draco listened, nodding a little. "That was…utterly pointless. If the old man knows, he ought to just Avada the vicar. And possibly the woman as well, her evident lack of spirit is annoying me. And that child is a right bother too."

"Draco! You've missed the point entirely. The book is about sin and redemption, not casual murder. He's saying that –"

"No, I understood it. I just think he's being foolish."

"Not to mention, he's a muggle. He can't use magic to kill anyone anyway."

Draco snorted. "A muggle? You can't really believe that."

"The author was a muggle. All the characters are muggles as well."

Draco shook his head. " The old man is the only smart character. There's no way he's a muggle."

"So every smart character must be a wizard?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Well, he convinced an attractive woman young enough to be his daughter to marry him. How else does one explain that?"

"Malfoy! Honestly, what does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything' He drawled, smirking. 'I shall look this over and determined whether you're ready for it or not."

"I was ready at nine."

"Yes, but you're _my_ little girl now, and I want to make sure what you're reading reflects that. Now, were you reading under the covers when I came in?"

"No, sir."

"Little girls who tell lies get the hairbrush, Hermione."

"I wasn't. I'd fallen asleep."

He chuckled lightly. "Of course you did. It was past your bedtime, and you stayed up to read rather than sleeping. I think there's a naughty little girl in my lap."

Hermione's wiggling became squirming. "You never said I had to go to sleep."

"But you knew you weren't supposed to awake."

"Y'sir."

"What do you think we ought to do about that, Hermione Jane?"

"Corner time?"

"You've already had it."

She lowered her head and sighed. " A smacking?" Draco leant over and lightly pressed on her lower lip, smiling as sympathetically as possible.

"I know my little girl doesn't like her punishments. They're awful, aren't they?"

Hermione surprised herself by sniffling. He was right, it was awful and it hurt. She hated it, but, her mind whispered treacherously, not like she had. At first she had hated it because it was painful and embarrassing. Now, having learnt all the ways these things could be twisted to her advantage, she hated it because it meant she'd failed somehow. Above all things, Hermione hated failure.

"Stand up, Hermione." She stood and the chair morphed into a large chaise longue. Sitting back down, he patted his lap, and with a final resigned grimace she went over. He put his legs over hers and stuck her arms to her back.

"Now I'm going to flip up this hem, like that' he made deed match speech ' because it really hurts much more on bare skin, doesn't it? There, all ready. Is there anything you'd like to say to me?"

"No, sir."

"What a big girl we're being. No whinging or fussing at all tonight. All right, think about what you did."

He raised a hand and gave her a sharp slap on the backside. She jumped, hissing, as the skin turned red. Draco thought he could live to be a thousand and never tire of watching that happen. The whole thing, but especially that.

**Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack**

"If you don't get adequate sleep, you get grumpy, and I have a fussy, stubborn little girl on my hands. And that means you get smacked more. Do you want to get smacked more?"

"NO!SIR!OWWWWNOMORE!"

**Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack**

"Little girls need good food and lots of rest and plenty of hard smackings when they're naughty. You'll be getting far more of the third unless you make a better effort to get the first two. I swear, Hermione, for a knut I'd write Mother and ask her to send Tibby to watch you."

**Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack**

"AHHHOWWWWWWW!"

"As it is, you're getting put down for another nap as soon as we're done here. And an early bedtime tonight. Maybe then you'll think twice before skipping your sleep like a bad girl."

**Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack**

He stopped whacking her and rested. His hand was burning dreadfully, and from the way Granger was squalling like a scalded cat, he thought her arse was as well. He let her cry face down for a few minutes and then gently lifted her to her feet.

"All right, hush. Go to the drawer on the vanity and bring me what you find in it."

Hermione was afraid of what it might be. It was like a malign birthday present or something. She opened the door and groaned. A spoon. Not just any spoon, but the heavy one she'd only ever gotten once. It had been enough to encourage her to fake taking Umbridge's stupid class seriously. It wasn't the only factor, of course, but it had definitely played a role. She picked the hateful thing up and brought it over to him, dragging her feet and forcing herself not to pout. Not that she ever did, of course, but Malfoy had a nasty way of making it seem like she did.

"Good girl, Hermione. I'm very proud of how well you're taking this. You've been so good you're only getting a handful with the spoon." A little of the nervous tension in her shoulders loosened, he noticed. That was good; she hadn't done anything really bad this time, but she simply had to learn to obey. He got her situated and raised the spoon.

**Thwack thwack thwack thwack**!

"**OWWWWW**!"

**Thwack thwack thwack thwack!**

"**STOPOWWWWPLEEAASE**!"

**Thwack thwack thwack thwack!**

"**SORRYOWWWW**!"

**Thwack thwack thwack thwack!**

Hermione writhed. It hurt! Well, it all hurt, but she'd forgot how much the spoon stung. Not as much as the hairbrush (which was more of a burn) but more than the spatula did. Malfoy put the spoon down and picked her up.

Draco liked carrying his mudblood. She was sniffling nicely into his shoulder, and he always felt that being lifted and moved like a kid reinforced her mindset. It fascinated him that he could reduce the smartest girl at school to a child with a few words. A child he was molding and shaping, that was the best part. The covers on the bed flicked back and he laid his pet down on her stomach, gently patting her back a little. He pulled the blankets up and tucked them in.

"All right, my girl, straight to sleep."

She nodded, still crying a bit. Draco climbed into the other side of the bed and got under the blankets. Granger was lying with her face toward him, eyes closed but not asleep. Her sobs had calmed to the occasional shuddering breath.

He wanted to sleep and he didn't. Part of him wanted to ignore Granger's woebegone face and roll over, drift off. Another part of him was afraid he couldn't sleep. He'd often had bad dreams when he was younger; the only thing he dreaded more was the endless silence of the night, waiting for day to come.

His hand reached for his goblet of water and struck something. The muggle book. He picked it up and set it down on his thigh. Reaching for Granger, he pulled her onto his chest in the way that was so nice and opened the book again.

"You were such a good girl about taking your medicine, you even get a bedtime story. Isn't that nice?" She nodded. He opened to a random place and began to read. Hermione adored being read to; within ten minutes she was sleeping peacefully.

Draco wanted nothing more than to go to sleep holding her like that. He went to close the book, then, curious, stopped. There was a strange picture, a woman and a man talking. He looked at the caption and felt a chill, as though the ancestors were warning him or something,

"No man for any considerable period can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true."*

Draco closed the book with a snap. He'd find something better for Granger; she didn't need a moldy old muggle book anyway. Still, something about that passage unsettled him. Which was laughable, really. Why would a Malfoy use a muggle book to communicate anything?


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Love to reviewers**

**Funnily enough, the end of this chapter mirrors real life. It gave me the answer to any number of conundrums, like being smacked upside the head by...well, you'll see.**

**In chapter 14, the ending paragraph references a mysterious figure hiding in the Common Room. Kindly keep that in mind as you read.**

**If things in this chapter are confusing, I apologize. Any explanations I give here would be spoilers.**

**Scroll down to the end for a brief explanatory note. It's a spoiler for the end of the chapter, so you might want to read first.**

**Finally, house points and chocolate frogs to the reviewers who guessed the book was "The Scarlet Letter" by Nathaniel Hawthorne.**

_**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**_

She went straight from the hospital wing to the Room, hardly pausing for a moment. She still couldn't believe it had happened. And that vicious, awful cow, that c-nt ( even in the privacy of her own head, Hermione couldn't bring herself to actually use a word like that) had accused she and Harry of being the cause. Well, Harry, but she'd dared to imply… She was so angry she never noticed the figure hiding in the shadows by the Room.

Draco's arm shot out to catch his mudblood. "Slow down, Granger, if a firstie had been standing there you'd have mowed the poor creature down. Which might have been diverting, really."

Hermione hadn't realized how tense she was until his hand cupped the knob of her shoulder. She relaxed a little and managed a tired half smile. Malfoy quickly guided her through the wall and into the house. Neither of them thought they were being followed, and why should they. No witvh or wizard could follow them or enter unless Draco permitted it. And as for non-wizards....

Draco led her directly upstairs. They went to the bedroom and she flopped down onto the bed, kicking off her shoes.

"I would ask how you've been, but I venture the answer would be 'less than ideal.'"

"Ron was almost killed this evening and then Harry and I had a run-in with that hideous Lavender Brown."

"So the moron lives to gawp mindlessly another day?"

Hermione flushed. "It isn't funny. He almost died."

"So you've said. What happened?"

"Vane—Romilda Vane, she's in Gryffindor—sent Harry some sweets a few months ago. Ron found and ate some of them, but it turns out she'd laced them with some love potion she tried to make herself. She'd added too much of something, and…" She spread her hands and shrugged.

"And then Brown accosted you again?"

"Yes."

Draco smelled blood. As a Slytherin, his ability in that regard rivaled a shark's; he sat back and studied her. " What did she say that upset my little girl?"

Hermione nodded. "I don't want to talk about it."

"It's not up for debate, Granger."

She shook her head. " I just want to rest."  
"No."

"Malfoy."

Draco blew air through his teeth in disgust. "You want to lie there and feel sorry for yourself? Fine."

She sat up. "I'm not feeling sorry for myself."

" Come off it, Granger. You're pouting."

" I'm not."

Draco bit his lip to keep from grinning. "No?"

"No. I'm just angry and tired and--"

"Having a damned good sulk about it.' He leant over and stroked her hair off her face. " My little girl had a row with her friend, and now she feels very grumpy and out of sorts, doesn't she? Poor little girl."

Hermione glowered, the look that sent the first years scurrying. Malfoy was no first year, and anyway, he was used to it. He smiled as sweetly as he could back, and undid the fastener on her trousers. "Lift up, Hermione."

"What are you doing?"

"Undressing you."

"Don't, I'm not in the mood." She actually tried to bat his hand away. He stopped and gave her his own firstie scaring look, which actually worked. Her hands dropped and she let him tug her blue jeans down and then off. He pulled her jersey over her head, leaving her in a t-shirt and knickers.

"Please, I really don't want to."

He got it. "Dear God, Granger, not that. I'm putting you down for a nap, is all."

"I don't want a nap."

He laughed. "I'm sorry, could you whine a bit harder? You've been a petulant brat since we came upstairs, and I won't have it. Little girls who sulk have to take a nap. Under you go, now."

Hermione obeyed with ill concealed annoyance. "I really don't need a nap."

"Of course you don't. I'll come and get you once the food is here. Sweet dreams." He kissed the top of her head and spelled the lights down. Then he pointed his wand at the bed and murmured a spell. Hermione saw the bed glow bright blue for a second but felt no different.

"A ward to keep you in bed. I'll know if you try anything."

He left his mudblood and went downstairs. He ordered the idiotic Nippy to make haste slowly and sat considering by the fire. He wondered what her attraction was for him; sometimes the whole thing seemed like a lot of trouble and bother.

Somehow her needs had wormed themselves into his play time, and he often found himself stopping to think about what would be best for her when they were together. He'd come to the conclusion that his real power over her was mainly mental, and the smackings were a sort of added bonus; he'd managed to change her, and she seemed unaware of it.

And he enjoyed her. What they did together, but also Hermione herself. He was, after all, Draco Malfoy, of the Wiltshire Malfoys, and constantly cognizant of that fact. She refused to acknowledge the concept of 'place', and her strange, naïve views on things were funny and even sort of endearing. She really was just like a child in some ways; his to train and discipline when needed, but also his to be cared for and held and spoiled with attention when it seemed right.

The moronic elf returned, squeaking some inane remark, and Draco directed it into the dining room. It set the tray down, vowed total silence as it always did, and then vanished with a 'pop'. He made a face at the thing's retreating back. Like all wizards who had daily dealings with them, Draco was a well of paranoia when it came to the green fools. As much as believed what he'd told Hermione, that the elves were happy, that idea coincided with a deep fear that someday the elves would break their magical bonds and attack their owners. He shivered and forced his mind off of it, standing.

Hermione heard Malfoy's loafers on the stairs. She hadn't slept at all, and was deeply annoyed that he'd try to make her nap like a fussy child. She had every right to be upset, and anyway it wasn't like she could tell Malfoy about what had happened. The thing was too wholly awkward. She sniffed and rolled on her side, away from the door.

"Are you ready to tell me why you're pouting?"

"I'm not pouting, and even if I was, you have no ri--"

"That's a no, I take it. I have half a mind to send you back to bed with no supper, little girl. But that would be too easy."

"Easy?"

"Mmm-hmm. You're trying to run away from something, and that would be a way for you to do it, because once you woke up, you'd have managed to convince yourself it wasn't a problem after all and you were being silly, and then it would build up inside you. I know you, Granger, and we need to deal with this right now."

"There's nothing to deal with. Everyone knows that Brown is a stupid cow, and if that's how she's going to be, that's fine."

"Liar. This is eating you alive."

"It isn't either."

He reached into the bed and pulled her out, sat and stood her between his legs. Flicking his wand, he summoned her blue jeans and held them out by the waistband. She stared incredulously. "This is a joke."

"Not at all. Step in, Hermione."

"I'm not three."

"Could have fooled me. Hurry now, the food is on the table."

Hermione swallowed her retort and stepped in, instinctively putting a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. Draco was grinning in that unfriendly way that meant trouble, but he carefully pulled her trousers up and fastened them. Then he wrapped his hand around her wrist and began tugging her toward the dining room.

"Malfoy—oww!—let go, I can walk."

"The harder you fight me, the more I'm going to assume you need help."

"That's ridiculous."

He stopped and turned to face her. "Bollocks. You had a chance to talk about this like an adult and chose not to take it. Behavior has consequences, Granger. Deal with it." He turned away, ignoring her outraged protests, and simply continued leading her down the corridor. Hermione sighed and relaxed her wrist a little, causing him to loosen to his grip just slightly. It was progress.

He led her right to her chair, pulled the chair out and pushed her gently into it, spelling the chair right up to the table. Taking up his own place, he served them both food and then softly chanted a invitation for whatever ancestors were listening to join them. It helped Draco calm himself, frustrated as he was with the way she was acting. Tradition, he thought, must be upheld.

They ate in silence, wrapped up in their own thoughts. Hermione forced herself to eat what had been set in front of her but she had no appetite. It all tasted like sand in her mouth. Malfoy was pointedly ignoring her and that suited her fine for the moment.

Having recovered his equilibrium, Draco watched his mudblood whenever he thought she wasn't looking. She was picking morosely at her food, hardly eating. She didn't eat much at the best of times, but this was even worse than usual.

"Stop playing with your food, Hermione."

"May I please be excused?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to say no. She was sitting very straight, hands still. He missed the normal meals with Granger, talking about some theory of charms or DADA. Sometimes they made one another laugh, or argued a little, but it was usually fun.

"You're excused, Hermione. Find a corner in the parlour, please."

She was strangely grateful to take up her place. The fire was crackling mellowly, and this position was reassuringly familiar. Closing her eyes she rested her head against the ornate carvings and breathed deeply. Suddenly a cold hand clamped the back of her neck and she jumped, gasping, and bumped into Malfoy.

"This is the first obedient thing you've done all night, little madam. It's a nice change."

"Malfoy, I--"

"It's not like you, Hermione. I can't remember the last time you fought me this hard. What did she say?"

"I really don't want to talk about it."

"Why not? We've talked about worse than this. Was it that bad, what she said?"

Hermione shook her head. " No, not that bad." Draco heard the slight catch in her voice and braced himself. She blinked and seemed to find something in herself to draw on; squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she breathed deeply and looked him straight in the eye.

Draco felt a surge of pride in her stubbornness, her refusal to let the world throw her off balance. Then reality chilled him. He had to get her to tell him or it would fester and burn them both. Her very refusal to deal with the issue made it hard for her to…deal with the issue.

"You know, Granger, most girls in your position cry. Or at least yell and throw things. Why don't you?"

She actually smiled just a little. "That's hardly a very mature reaction."

"That's hardly a very good answer."

"I'm just not that kind of person. I've always prided myself on self control."

"Yes, and it's improving your life dramatically."

"What else would you have me do, Draco?"

Malfoy considered. " Why don't you try it?"

"What, crying? Or throwing things?"

"I don't know, something. You're the girl, you figure it out."

She shook her head. "I'd rather suffer than act so silly about things."

He huffed with irritation and turned her to the corner. Walking to the couch, Draco summoned his Social History. He'd been reading it less lately; they were beginning to develop their own sense of things, and so he found he needed much less advice."When you're ready to deal with this, like a big girl, you can come out."

Hermione stood in the corner and seethed. He was being surprisingly reasonable, she reminded herself over and over, but that didn't make it any easier for her to accept his assumption that she owed him an answer about all this. Of all the things about this situation, that was the hardest to accept, his desire to regulate her life away from him.

She suddenly wished he'd smack her. Hard, really hard. It felt better to cry about that than it did something like this; anyone would cry when they were getting one of Malfoy's murderously hard smackings. Crying over something as meaningless as hurt feelings was a failure, and Hermione hated to fail. She had trained herself away from the knack for self absolution when she'd decided, age eight or nine, that crying because someone had been mean to her was a victory for them. She wouldn't give in, but surely it wouldn't hurt Malfoy to punish her?

Draco heard her leave the corner and continued reading. Her hand suddenly seized the spine of the book, with all the reverence of someone that truly loves reading, and pushed it on the couch. A second later, a thoroughly confused Draco had a lapful of mudblood.

"Would you like to explain what you're doing?"

"Smack me."

"What?"

"You're going to anyway, aren't you? Because I wouldn't tell you at first?"

"I certainly am, but I thought we talked about this last time. Who controls your discipline, Hermione Jane?"

"You do, sir, but---"

"No. I decide when you're ready to be punished, and right now you aren't."

"I am, though."

"Care to tell me why?"

She tried to get up and he pressed an arm across her back. "Can't we talk face to face?"

"No, you're in time out. Now, why do you want to be punished?"

He hardly heard what she said the first time. When prompted, she said a little louder "It's easier to cry that way."

"I'm sure it is, but I'm not going to make you cry for the sake of it. You need to do that."

"Please?"

The irony of asking to be made to cry was not lost on Hermione. She tried to squirm so they could talk face to face, only to be firmly brought back into position and given a light swat on the thigh. "Lie still, Hermione."

He took up his book again, resting it on her back. The minutes ticked slowly by. Every time Hermione wiggled she was patted absently on the back. That was all. She wished desperately that he would scold her or start her punishment. He didn't.

"Malfoy?"

"Shhhhh."

"No, please, I--"

"Shhhh."

This went on for some time. Hermione hung over Draco's lap, trying to convince herself what he was doing didn't hurt. She would never have thought a day would come when she would feel worse not being smacked than being smacked but it had and she did. Not that it mattered, anyway, because it wasn't as though she was going to—would ever—oh, dear. Hermione put her face in her hands and sobbed.

He righted her at once. After wards, neither of them was quite clear how it happened. One moment she was standing in front of him and the next he had moved a little closer to direct her back to the corner but ended up with his arms around her instead. Hermione, in turn, meant to politely indicate that she had no need of comfort and sit down, but she found herself with her head to his shoulder, face buried in his neck. Draco sat down and pulled his mudblood against him, murmuring. She nuzzled close and cried, arms around him as tightly as his were about her. He wished for a throw blanket and one appeared, so he covered them both and prepared to weather the storm.

"All right, shhhh. That's my brave little girl. I know, love, it's hard, isn't it? Shhhh, I'm here. I'm right here."

Hermione was winding down. She'd cried hard but briefly and now she felt sleepy and a little foolish. She tried to lift her head and was gently stopped. She could hear his heart beating; she shut her eyes and listened. He reached out and cupped her cheek, shocked when she actually cringed a little.

"All right, Granger, out with it."

"Please, not tonight. I don't want—can't we just—please?"

"No, that's not an option. Tell me, now."

"She came right after he woke up. He was talking to Harry and I and she came in and said--" Hermione broke off, swallowing. Draco prayed she wasn't going to cry again. He had no especial objections to Granger's crying in theory; in practice, he considered anyone else's making her cry an enemy advance on his territory. Besides, it made his chest tighten. If he didn't know better, he'd almost say it hurt to watch.

"She said what?"

"It was our fault. Harry's because he's the Boy that Lived and mine because I'm muggle born."

"That makes precisely as much sense as I'd expect from Brown. Perhaps you're the one who drove Trelawney to drink? Has she considered that as well?"

"It isn't a joke! It really hurt."

"Granger, _I've_ said worse things to you. I'm appalled you're acting like this is worthy of your consideration."

"You don't understand. She called me a--" Hermione remembered to whom she was speaking and trailed off. Malfoy understood at once and went still.

" And what did you say?"

"I told her she ought to be ashamed of herself and left."

"What did the Weasel make of all this? Did he step in to defend you?"

She stared at her shoes. "No. He didn't say anything."

Draco inhaled. "I'm very sorry to hear that." She glanced up, startled, and he looked away. Couldn't have her getting the idea he was going soft. Not at all, because he wasn't. But this, this was…his hands knotted into fists.

Draco still thought of Hermione as a mudblood. In a way, he was unconscious of it. Birds flew, fish swam, and wizarding children of muggle parents were mudbloods. His racism was as much reflexive as felt, the product of thorough indoctrination and cultural forces , mingled with personal venom that had grown—was growing—increasingly, uncomfortably cloudy.

Personal issues aside, it was obviously intolerable that someone should insult Hermione. He would see that the miserable bitch got exactly what she had coming, but for now he would concentrate on getting his pet calmed down. He felt a moment's regret for the phials in his pocket—he'd had very high hopes—but it would have to wait.

"All right, up we go. You're having a bath and then going to bed. If you're good, we'll talk about a story."

She snuggled against him as he lifted her, feeling utterly safe. "You aren't going to punish me?"

"Oh, I am. But not right now. Right now, all you need to worry about is letting me take care of you. Can you do that?"

"Y'sir."

And so that's what she did.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione woke up. She could sense Malfoy in the bed, lying on his back. She rolled over and saw him staring at the ceiling. He looked as though he might have cried sometime in the recent past—his eyes were slightly red. She half sat up. "Draco, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Granger. Back to sleep."

She inched closer. "You can tell me. I won't laugh."

"Better not." She lay beside him and studied his face. Draco turned cautiously and wiggled over a bit. He wanted to tell her what was on his mind very badly; wanted to put his head between her breasts and simply rest there, listening to her heart as she did so often with him. He compromised by resting his head on her shoulder and closing his eyes, feeling as though he ought to give in and reveal it all, beg her to run away with him.

But where would they go? What rock would give them shelter? He couldn't stand to stay nor bear to leave, and Granger had to be protected and kept healthy and well. He was due to be summoned again next week—he had to make progress and quickly, lest the Dark Lord decide to make an example of someone he cared about. This wasn't the safest course but the only course.

"Is it your father?"

He started, began to ask her what she meant and checked himself. Instead he nodded, pleased that it was partly true. He pulled himself against her and breathed the sweet smell of freshly washed hair and perfumed skin. Tears stung his eyes and he took a deep breath. It would be bad for her to see him weak like this; would frighten and upset her.

"It's all right, Draco. Do you want to talk about it?" Her hand slowly went to his head and cupped the back of his neck as he often did hers. Then she reached up and stroked her fingers through his soft, fine hair. Malfoy sighed deeply. She used her other arm to pat his back, fearing to be rebuffed and, when she was not, pressing a little more firmly.

Draco's brown wrinkled. It was bad policy for her to get the idea that she could (or should) take charge rather than waiting for him to direct her actions.

On the other hand, he could hardly summon the emotional energy to breathe, let alone do anything else. And if he were to be very honest, he could admit that being taken care of in this state felt very comforting.

She abruptly stopped moving. "You're very warm. Do you feel okay?"

He nodded. "Yes, I'm fine."

She reached out a hand and a second later something cool and damp popped into it. Draco felt something rough and slightly wet on his cheeks, and realized she was bathing his face for him. He wondered whether he made her feel this way. She was acting so calm and so matter of fact—was this how it was for her when he undressed her or bathed her or made her eat? He trusted Granger as much as she trusted him; giving up control of his body, even in such a limited way, was a strange feeling. Not wholly uncomfortable, but strange.

"Better?"

"Yes. Granger, I---Have you ever been faced with two untenable choices?"

"Yes."

"What did you do?"

"I chose the one I hoped would do least harm."

"Did it?"

"I don't know. If something were wrong—really wrong—you'd tell me, wouldn't you?"

Draco felt as though he'd been punched. He couldn't tell her, but he also hated the idea of giving her an outright lie. At first he hadn't cared enough about Granger to bother to pad the truth; now, having gotten in the habit of relative honesty, he cared too much to want to deceive her. This was a night for irony and contrasts, he thought with a soft chuckle.

"Draco?"

"If there was ever something I thought you could help me with, I would. That's the very best I can do right now.' She started to protest and he pressed a finger to her lips. 'I promise I'll tell you everything you need to know."

She nodded, knowing how seriously a promise was taken by wizards. He leant up and brushed his lips against hers, thinking to distract her. She kissed back, and he noticed with surprise that she had gone almost limp in his arms, boneless. He chuckled again, more loudly. "Liked that, did you?"

Hermione's belly was a pool of hot, sweet liquid. She sat up and said a bit raggedly "Shall I take my nightdress off?"

He nodded and pulled the covers back for her to climb under to undress. Giving him a look, she simply knelt up and pulled the nightgown over her head. Draco opened to mouth to scold her for immodesty and couldn't. He 'd never seen her naked before, and it was a revelation.

He'd seen bits of her, of course, and also the glimpses of skin that watching her bathe had afforded him, but never simply Granger, naked and free. His body quite liked it, at any rate; he was getting an erection and did nothing to discourage it.

Hermione blushed. She didn't feel at all bad, but it was a little funny to be naked in front of someone else. Especially considering his frank looking, and the erection she could plainly see under his pajama trousers. He must have been aware of that state of affairs as well, because he pointed to the bed. "Climb under, I have phials of contraception and that stuff you take."

"What is that, anyway?"

"Pain killer, I think. I talked to someone who said it would hurt a bit since it's been so long."

"Won't you undress first? I'd like to see you again. Sir."

He felt torn for a moment. He really shouldn't encourage this muggle way of doing things, but she looked so earnest and sweet it was hard to say no. And she'd already seen him naked, so what could it harm?

A minute later they lay side by side, naked on the bed. The phials were beside her and they were looking at one another with shy interest. Granger had a birthmark on her chest, a small round mole that Draco let his fingers slide over, wondering whether he dared touch her breast.

Hermione screwed up her courage and cautiously slid a hand between his legs. He went very still, and he hand found his testicles, heavy and velvety smooth. She stroked lightly and waited to see what he would do.

Too lightly. Draco laughed and carefully batted her hand away. "Granger—ha ha ha—stop that! Tickles!"

"You're ticklish there?"

"All men are, now don't do it again, you brat."

She grinned. "Where else are you ticklish?"

"Hermione Jane, don't you dare."

She slowly brought her hands up to hover a centimeter above his stomach. He did his best to look stern and unamused. "There's a little girl in this bed who's going to earn herself a sound smacking if she keeps it up."

Granger looked innocent. "I don't know who you mean, I'm sure." She pounced and tickled his ribs, prompting helpless laughter and retaliatory tickling. After a few moments he managed to get her pinned and tickled into submission, laughing and squirming wildly. He took her legs and, bending them slowly, put them to her chest. She shook her head, still giggling. "Oh no, sir, not that." He noticed she sounded less than afraid and was obscurely pleased; it was nice to play a little.

"I warned you. Hold position, now."

He gave her a few light slaps on her sit spots to prove his point and spent a moment admiring her barely pink backside. Then he got the phials and handed them to her to drink. "Ankles on my shoulders, Hermione."

The sheet flew up to cover them, reassuring Draco of their modesty and proper conduct as he gently inserted a finger inside Granger. She was already wet, he noticed, a clear sign they needed to be releasing her humours more regularly. He wondered if she needed maintenance for that as well and resolved to look it up. Then he carefully slide himself inside and rested for a moment, giving her a chance to relax and get used to it, just as Snape had said.

Hermione gasped. "Does it hurt?"

"N-no, it's just—different. It feels deeper."

"Are you ready?"

"Yes sir."

Draco was glad because his self control was wearing out anyway. He liked this much better than the last time; the delicious tightness was still there, but it was easier to move, and Granger didn't look as though she expected to be killed. He understood what she meant about it being deeper; he had a perception he could thrust and hit her insides if he wanted to.

Hermione relaxed and concentrated on feeling him moving inside her. It felt like a kind of hard, fast rubbing, but it was actually nice. After a moment she became aware that her body was reacting, nerve endings tightening with his thrusts. She sighed and moved her pelvis a bit to meet his thrusts, felt her body reward her with a harder tightening.

He put his hands to her shoulders and held them there. "Hold---still—Hermione."

She laid back, sorry he didn't want her help but feeling the wonderful sensations were quite enough for one day anyway. It wasn't an orgasm but it was pleasant, and at least Draco was enjoying himself. His thrusts picked up speed and force and she lay still, the throb of her muscles increasing and then he groaned, froze and rolled away.

He opened his eyes. "What did you think?"

"It was good. I liked it that way."

"So did I. I think we'll rebalance your humours tomorrow before I smack you."

She smiled and then looked down demurely. " We could just do the first one."

He laughed, picking up his wand to scourgify everything. He did himself and then her thighs and the bed, handed her the discarded nightdress from the part of the bed it had been thrown on. "Good try. My little girl needs a good smacking for her naughtiness this evening, and then she'll feel so much better. Get under the covers, love, it's time for bed."

She blushed, feeling quietly delighted he'd called her 'love'. He'd noticed too, because his cheeks went pink and he spelled the lights down, pulling on his pants in the dark. He rolled to spoon her as he always did.

"Don't know why you're complaining. Four hours ago you were begging for it."

"It hurts."

"It's punishment, it's supposed to make you think twice before you misbehave. If you liked it, it'd be a reward."

She grumbled and closed her eyes to drift off. Malfoy kissed her neck and then she was sleeping. For his own part, Draco fell asleep with a smile, knowing his little girl was safe and ---for the moment---all right emotionally. It was all worth it, at these moments. All of it, and he would see that it stayed that way no matter the cost.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The observer hovered a moment longer. Reaching out a hand, it adjusted the tea towel it wore as a sort of toga and vanished with a muted pop. Reappearing in the corridor, Kreacher sighed to himself. He had to make a report soon to the hated Halfblood, heir to his Mistress's blood traitor son.

He was beside himself from having to do this. Ever since the Halfblood had ordered him to spy, he had been experiencing peroxyms of guilt and shame. He found it very odd, too, that he was expressly forbidden from making his presence known to anyone other than that messy haired Halfblood monster. It made sense that he wouldn't want the Pureblood to know, but why not the mudblood and the blood traitor?

He sat on a statue and thought, looking like a green version of Rodin. The Pureblood's female, though… but was she not friends with the Halfblood? And what was a good Pureblood, a scion of the Black family, doing with such a filthy creature to start out with? She had spent part of the summer at 12 Grimmauld place with the Halfblood and the others, but considering what he had observed she and the Pureblood boy doing…(not that he'd watched. Kreacher was too well bred for that. Besides, wizards and witches make the most awful faces during their mating rituals.)

Well, it was not for him to question. If Master Draco thought it right, then Kreacher ought not to disagree. He was forbidden from writing to the Pureblood…not the mudblood. And if he left it for the Pureblood boy to find…

**SPOILER NOTE:**

**A/N: In this timeline, Harry is still suspicious of Malfoy, and has had the elf following him for some time. Kreacher hasn't made himself known because he's the poster...elf... for malicious obedience and is trying to thwart Harry.**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Love to reviewers**

**The central question of this chapter is "Who's manipulating whom?"**

**My interest in history led me to a fascination with handwriting and a particular passion for 18th century letters and documents. A translation of the first letter is available at the bottom. The irregular spelling is very much intentional.**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**Monday**:

Draco climbed into the bed, grateful for once that he was alone. He'd had a long, hard day, and as much as he liked taking his frustrations out on Granger, it was probably better this way. Pulling his bed curtains, he spelled the covers back and prepared to climb in. His hand hit something and he jerked back in surprise. It was a ragged piece of parchment folded like a letter, in the old style. "Muddbloode girl" it said in shaky, childlike handwriting. He flipped it over, feeling a spike of panic. No one knew about him and Granger. Except Snape, and he would hardly need to write. The back of the letter was unsealed.

Draco had a rare moment of conscience. Should his open his pet's letter? Then he came to his senses. Of course he should; he took care of Hermione, which entitled him to know what was going on in her life. What if someone were to bother her via mail? He opened it and began to read.

"_Deere Mudbloodde girl,_

_ i cannot tell you who i amm but i want to warne you. Mster Malfoy ys yn danger. The deegenerat Halfebloode ys plotting aginst himm. i amm forbidden to speeke to himm terrectlee. You muste do yr best to helpe. i have seene what he ys to you. Fynde a releyeable elf & i shall talke to itt. Have the elff call to mee & i will answere._

_Yr frynde_."

This was either the stupidest thing he'd ever read or pure brilliance. He wondered if this was some ploy on Potter's part and discounted it. Who wrote in such archaic language and such an awkward hand? Purebloods prided themselves on beautiful, flowing handwriting. Surely this dragon scratch hadn't come from…but who else would…a reliable elf. That got his mind started. Suddenly he laughed out loud, startling his roommates. Then he pulled out his little lapdesk from under the bed. Pulling out a self inking quill and a sheet of parchment, he began to write.

"_Dearest Madam and beloved Mother,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I must ask a favor of you, of some great import to our family, which discretion forbids me to mention here_…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Tuesday:**

Draco wondered what his mudblood was up to as he walked to Snape's office the next night. Trouble and mischief, no doubt. Draco hoped devoutly it was the 'minor annoyance' kind, not the 'getting her killed with that jackass' kind. He liked the first very much, as long as it was endearing naughtiness and not anything that might lead to her besting him.

Snape opened the door to his private study and Draco walked in, nodding a greeting. "Evening, Godfather."

"Mr. Malfoy. What is this thing that could not possibly wait?"

"I need to speak to my mother. About…" He gestured to his Marked arm and Snape frowned. "I need to borrow an elf I can trust."

A moment later Narcissa Malfoy's perfectly coiffed head appeared. "Draco, darling, what is it? Has something happened?"

"I need Tibby, Mother."

Apparition guards never apply to house elves, and so within a few minutes a small pop was heard and Tibby was standing beside Snape. Her pillow case was cleaner than usual, and she was grinning.

"Master Draco! We is glad to see you! And Master Snape! We is honoured, sir, simply honoured. How may Tibby serve?"

Draco bid his mother goodbye, with many promises to wear his warmest woolens and not catch cold, and then faced the elf. "Tibby, call out for my friend."

"Tibby does not understand, Master Draco."

"Just do it, idiot!"

Tibby nodded. " Friend! We is Tibby, servant to the House of Malfoy."

Another pop and an ancient, decrepit elf in a filthy rag appeared. He bowed low. "We is Kreacher. We used to be owned by Madam Walburga Black, but now we is owned by that filthy Halfblood Potter."

"Ask why it's following me."

"Why is you following my young master?"

"The Halfblood is ordering Kreacher to spy on young master Malfoy. He is a bad, bad boy, that Halfblood, and we is hating him." They waited expectantly for Kreacher to punish himself but nothing happened. He straightened as much as his bent spine would allow and glared almost defiantly. Tibby squeaked and began punching herself in the nose.

"Stop that, Tibby. How long has it been following me?"

"We is following the young master since before Christmas. The Halfblood is not telling us why."

"Has it told Potter about Granger and I?"

Kreacher smugly shook his head. "We is not telling him about the young master and the filthy Mudblood. May Kreacher be asking Tibby a question?"

"Go on, Tibby."

"We is knowing it is not our place, but Kreacher is wanting to know why a Pureblood would be wanting to associate with a nasty mudblood who is friends with the Halfblood."

Draco gave the elf his best intimidating glare. "Not that it's any of Tibby's business, but I have reason to believe Granger has information which could prove valuable to us. And she's no dirtier than anyone, and loads smarter than almost anyone I know, no what you, I mean Tibby, want to believe."

If a kneazle had come and rubbed against Snape's ankle, he would have fainted from shock. As fond as Snape was of Draco, in his own admittedly bizarre fashion, the boy was a dyed in the wool blood fanatic. If someone had ever told Snape that the day would come he'd hear Lucius Malfoy's only son and heir defending a mublood, and specifically that mudblood, he'd have laughed in their faces. As it was, only a rapid blink betrayed his surprise.

Then his heart sank. He'd never really believed that Draco only was manipulating the girl to get information. One had but to know him to see the change in his face when she was mentioned. Which would have been fine, if deeply awkward and worrisome, in peace time. But with the war looming…he wondered whether he ought to try to convince Albus to…he'd never say yes. But Granger was a resourceful girl, and if anyone could get them both through, it would be her. He wondered where this left Potter.

The elf bowed. "Kreacher is believing that whatever the young master does is right, of course, but he is only worrying about the young master. We is not sure our Mistress would be approving of her great nephew's female."

"Great-Aunt would understand about the Cause. Tibby, please dismiss the other elf and tell it to keep reporting to Potter. We'll be meeting in the Room in two days time. It's forbidden to mention about Granger and myself. Understood?"

Kreacher bowed again. "Tibby, be telling young master we is not saying anything. If he is needing us, we is wanting to help. Just call for Kreacher and we is there." The wizened creature vanished.

Malfoy sighed hugely. "So that's how it is. Godfather, would it be worth it to have Tibby tail Potter?"

Snape shook his head. "Dumbledore's nose for treachery is exquisitely attuned. You'd do better having her keep an eye on things here. Perhaps on Granger herself?"

An idea as dreadful as it was clever was slowly forming in Draco's mind. He smiled at his godfather, and Snape was eerily reminded of Lucius. "May I sit down?"

Draco looked to Tibby. "Tibby, do you know who Hermione Granger is?"

"Tibby is not knowing, young master. Tibby is sorry." She started clawing her own arms. Draco watched impassively for a moment and then said, irritated "Enough."

"Hermione Granger is my …she and I are… at any rate, I want to you watch over her. Tell me if anything happens to her, or you think I ought to know what she's doing. And if you see a chance to help her a bit, do."

He described her and Tibby nodded enthusiastically. "Tibby would love to be of service! This girl is needing Tibby's help. Why is Kreacher saying she's a mudblood?"

"That's not impotant."

Tinny blinked. "Is Master and Madam knowing?"

"No, and if you tell them I'll have your guts for braces. This is between us for the moment, understand?"

Tibby looked ready to cry. "But Malfoys are never associating with mudbloods."

"She isn't _really_ a mudblood, Tibby, you'll see. It's a surprise for my parents, and you mustn't ruin it."

Idiot creatures they are, house elves love surprises and things of that nature. Tibby's eyes were glowing with excitement and the prospect of helping the witch young master just described. Tibby had served all three Black girls, and the Rosier sisters before them. The poor little lamb young master was talking about desperately needed a guiding hand, and Tibby was happy to do it. There was no one in the world she loved more than young master Draco, after all.

After the elf had gone, Draco looked at his godfather a long moment.

"I have a plan' he said, and Snape warded the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Friday Night, nine forty PM**:

Hermione could have sworn she'd left her knee socks on the chair beside her bed. She sighed loudly and lifted her rucksack for the third time. She wanted to change before she met Malfoy at ten. She sat on the bed, thinking about where she might have left them and drawing a blank.

This wasn't the first strange thing to have happened lately, either. Someone kept rearranging her toiletries, and the little phial of muggle perfume she kept for special occasions was just flat gone. Her clothes kept turning up in strange places, often pressed and folded, and she could swear even Crookshanks looked different. Glossier, and deeply displeased about it, if his snorts and grumbles were any indication.

She wondered if the elves had been sneakily arranging her things again. When she'd sworn off house elf labour it had been an uphill battle. Her dormitory elf had even come to her crying, asking what she'd done that Hermione didn't like her anymore. After twenty minutes reassuring the crying Mippy that she still liked her very much, and that the head banging was not necessary, she'd consented to just the basics.

The dorm was empty. Hermione sat down on her bed and softly called for Mippy. She popped into the air at eye level and bowed. "Yes, miss, how can Mippy be helping?"

"Mippy, I've noticed some things have been changed around. Did you do that?"

"No, miss."

"Do you know who did?"

"No, miss." She reassured the elf that nothing else was needed, and Mippy Apparated away, confounded as to why miss didn't want her help. She heard a loud pop and turned, mentally preparing for another long session of explaining her objections to the house elf system.

An elf she had never seen was standing there, clad in a pillow case. The elf frowned direfully. "Miss must be straightening herself up before she leaves. Her clothes is wrinkled and her hair is needing brushing. Malfoys is not liking sloppiness."

Shocked, Hermione dropped her hand in her lap. "Who are you?"

"We is Tibby. Young master says you is needing help, and we is thinking so too." The elf's face suddenly contorted and she started to cry. Hard, almost wailing. Hermione cringed.

"Don't cry, Tibby! Look, I've stopped. Everything is fine."

Tibby sniffled. "We did not mean to insult Miss! Tibby is bad elf! Bad, bad elf!" She was looking around, probably for something to cause herself cranial trauma with, when Hermione had an inspiration. "No, Tibby, I need your help with something."

Tibby stopped. "You is needing Tibby?"

"Yes! I need you to help me find my knee socks."

"They is here, Miss." She opened the dresser that Hermione shared with Parvati and showed her the neatly folded socks, all three pairs, beaming at having been of use. Hermione took a deep breath, not wanting to set the elf off again.

"Did you move my things, Tibby?"

"Oh, yes, Miss! We is putting everything in order." The elf studied Hermione a moment and then took up the brush from the top of the dresser. Hermione froze as the little elf gently took her hair in her hands and started brushing. The little elf tugged gently at Hermione's blouse and

"There! Miss is looking very nice now. Young master will be very pleased."

"Malfoy ordered you to come help me?"

"Yes, Miss. He is worrying about you."

Hermione felt torn between irritation and being a little flattered. She couldn't possibly allow this, of course, but it was sort of nice of him to try. She stood up and smoothed her clothes. "I'm going to meet Malfoy now, Tibby. Are you going home?"

"Oh no, Miss, we is staying here until the young master sends us back. We is coming with you." Hermione checked the hourglass and sighed. "Would you mind making yourself invisible?"

The elf obeyed and they walked to the Room in silence. Malfoy had a slightly drawn look about him, she noticed. He seemed paler than usual, and he had circles under his eyes. He nodded in greeting and gestured her inside.

"How's my little girl?"

"Ask Tibby."

Malfoy's face flushed a bit. "Tibby! You were supposed to be discreet!"

Tibby appeared. "We is sorry, young Master! Tibby is not wanting Miss to go out without brushing her hair and we is only trying to--" Tibby started punching herself in the head as she talked.

"Malfoy, make her stop! She's hurting herself!"

Draco held up a hand. "Enough, Tibby. Punish yourself later."

Hermione looked beseechingly at the elf. "Tibby, is there any way you could go and wait somewhere else? I need to speak to Malfoy."

Tibby shook her head. "Oh no, Miss, we is watching you until the young Master tells us different."

Malfoy smirked at Hermione. "All right, Tibby, you may go and fetch us something to eat. Not too fast, Miss and I need to talk." Tibby bowed and Apparated off. Malfoy crossed his arms and cocked his head. "Well?"

"You have to call her off. I've spent the last three days trying to find the things she rearranged, and you know I don't approve of house elf slavery anyway."

"I certainly do not. I happen to feel much safer knowing someone's got an eye on you."

"What about my feelings? I don't like being spied on, Draco. I wouldn't do it to you."

"You haven't the resources to do it to me, for one. For another, she isn't spying. She's just supposed to make sure your needs are adequately met."

"Then why not just tell me?"

"Because you'd say no."

Hermione took a deep, deep breath. "You know I don't approve of using house elf labour. I can't consent to--"

"You don't need to. I've done it for you. You said you trust me to make good choices for you, Granger."

"I do, but it makes me feel as though you don't trust me."

"Of course I trust you. If I didn't trust you, she _would_ have been spying. I didn't forbid her from showing herself to you, did I?"

"No."

"Has she rifled your papers or anything of that nature?"

"Well, no, but--"

"Then what is this little fit about? Hmmm?"

"I'm not having a---"

"Hermione Jane."

She hated that he could make her feel like she'd done something wrong when she hadn't. She huffed, dropping her eyes. He turned her around and pointed her to the divan. She took a seat and he sat beside her, taking her face in his hands.

"I asked you a question, little girl."

"I had a bit of a row with my parents. And I really don't like being followed, or having my things moved."

"So she had a grumpy day and threw a fit about it?"

"I wasn't having a fit; I was just explaining why I don't think it's a good idea for Tibby to follow me."

"I'm not convinced."

"We can't do anything to attract attention to ourselves, and a new elf will attract attention. And it's a moral issue for me. I can't in good conscience accept her help."

"It wants to help you, Hermione. You've said before house elves are autonomous creatures. "

Hermione felt a little thrill of pleasure. She liked arguing with Malfoy, as long as it didn't turn into a fight. She sat up straighter and gave him a look. "I said sentient, not autonomous. She's not here of her own free will, she's here because you asked her to be."

"Yes, but it very much wants to be here."

"That isn't the point. The point is, I don't need help."

"And that is where we disagree." Draco sat back, prepared to be high handed and unmoving and very, very like Lucius. He felt rather pleased his pet was learning to adapt her argument to her company. She'd known the morality argument wouldn't sway him, so she'd used the pragmatism argument first. Excellent.

Perhaps, he mused, I ought to apply that principal myself. He waited until she was through speaking and took her hand. "Hermione, I just feel safer knowing someone I trust is watching you. I'd never ask her to violate your privacy. I promised, remember?"

She nodded. "I do. And I know you'd never ask her to do anything bad, I just…"

"Feel frustrated and unhappy?"

"Yes."

He nodded. "I can always tell when my little girl's having a bad day. She gets contrary and then has a fit. But you know what that means don't you? What happens to little girls who do what you did?"

She grimaced. "Slipper, sir."

"We'll deal with that later. For right now, I've a proposition. Try it until we meet again. If you're still uncomfortable, we'll deal with it then. Please, Hermione?"

Malfoy had asked nicely. And _compromised_. Hermione sat speechless for a moment until he took her hand in his and pressed. "All right, Draco. That's fair." She was half tempted to check his eyes for signs he'd been Imperio'd but fought the urge. He smiled, a real smile, and pressed closer. She tilted her face up for a kiss, feeling warmth start in her stomach.

Draco leant over his mudblood, hand to her shoulder, and prepared to kiss her. He quite liked kissing her; she was always so receptive, and it charmed him that she still blushed every time. He was screwing up his courage to touch her breast when the pop echoed through the room.

They leapt apart like scalded cats. Tibby was beaming; she'd found lots of wholesome food for her young Master and his female. They had the strangest look on their faces, though. Young Master especially, looked like he had when he was small and had been caught at something. Tibby set the tray down and bowed. "Is there anything else the young Master is wanting?"

Draco looked angry enough to spit ink, so Hermione thought it prudent to step in. She sat up straight and said firmly "No, Tibby, that will be all. Thank you. We'll call if there's anything else, won't we Draco?"

Draco frowned dreadfully, making a mental note to scold her. She had the decency to look away, at least, and so he almost sent the elf away without further incident. Almost. But Draco's genius for revenge great and small was unparalleled. He stretched, grinning, pleased his pet looked uneasy.

"Actually, Tibby, go and fetch a slipper from the wardrobe."

"Tibby is only fetching one slipper?"

"It's not to wear. Miss has been rather naughty, and I want to deal with it right after supper."

"_Malfoy_!" Her face was almost violently pink. He hadn't had this much fun in ages. He bit his cheek to keep from grinning.

"Now, Hermione, mustn't take on. This is hardly the first time Tibby ever known of a little girl getting her bottom smacked, is it, Tibby?"

Tibby shook her head. "Oh no, Miss. Tibby is knowing about Miss Drusella and Miss Livia, and Miss Trixie and Miss Cissy. ' Tibby's eyes misted for a moment and then she said brightly 'And young Master, of course."

"That will be all, Tibby. Hurry and get what I asked you for."

"Malfoy! Why did you do that?"

He did his best to look commanding and imperious. "I'll never hesitate to deal with you in front of the help. I'd remember that next time."

Tibby came back with the dread implement. "Here it is, young Master."

"Very good, Tibby. That will be all, but do stay near so you can prepare Miss for bed."

Tibby vanished, leaving a cheerful looking Malfoy and a Granger who was doing something close to openly pouting. Draco leant over and gently pressed on her lower lip. "It could be worse, you know. I could have ordered her to stay and watch."

"Draco Malfoy, don't you _dare_!"

He smirked. "Guess I'd behave, then. Go to the dining room, Hermione. After we eat I've something to show you."

Tibby had brought an obscene amount of food. Draco piled both their plates. They set to eating and spoke of the usual things, assignments and bits of petty gossip they'd both heard. Finally they were done, and, leaving the plates (much to Hermione's guilt), they went back into the parlour.

A pile of books was sitting on a small end table. Hermione looked curiously at Malfoy, who pretended not to notice. He sat on the divan, toying with the slipper. "Come here, Hermione. We're going to have a little talk."

Her stomach lurching, she went and sat on his lap like she'd been told. Malfoy steadied her absently with an arm. "What did you row with your parents about?"

She sighed. " They think I'm pushing myself too hard."

"Oh?

"Dad wants to go on holiday over Easter break, but I told them I need to stay here."

Draco frowned. "Why did you tell them that?"

"There's too much to be done. And they'd have a better time without me. They haven't had a getaway in forever."

"So where are you going to go?"

She cocked her head. "Nowhere. I'm staying here."

"Sorry?"

"I'm not going to go."

Draco snorted incredulously. "Of course you are. Your father has made his wishes known, and you'll respect them."

"Ordinarily, yes, but--"

"After we're done talking, you'll write a letter apologizing for your disobedience."

"No, I won't. I'm an adult and if I don't want to go to Bimini then I don't have to. Why do you even care?"

"Your behavior reflects on me, Granger, and what you did is absolutely unacceptable, now get that skirt up and bend over my lap this instant."

She huffed and stood, lifting her skirt out of the way and half throwing herself across his knees. "I don't see how a row with my parents is any reflection on you."

He pinned her and jerked her knickers down. "Because it might give people the idea I tolerate that kind of behavior, and I don't. Not for a second. For another, I prefer to have you somewhere other than Britain as much as possible. And third, it's an issue of principal, Granger."

She used her hands to push herself up a bit. "You really mean it, don't you?"

"Mean what? And put your head back down, little madam."

"The whole' she blushed a little, feeling the strangeness of the situation 'taking care of me thing."

"It's taken you this long to realize that? Yes, I do mean it. So when you behave like a little brat, I reserve the right to correct you."

"You do it whether I'm acting nicely or not."

SMACK! "Yes, but it's been quite a long time since you got smacked for being so naughty. These days it's usually poor judgment or something minor, not major disobedience. I'm very disappointed in you, Hermione."

SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

Hermione sobbed, twisting and trying to kick. Angry as she was, she found herself gripping Malfoy's leg for comfort as his hand cracked down over and over, very hard. She tried to feel angry about what seemed to her a very unfair punishment, but in a weird way it was hard. She was starting to understand how seriously Draco took his self appointed role, and it was actually sort of comforting, even as it rankled her.

And hearing him say he was disappointed stung. She hated hearing that, hated it, and the thought made her cry harder, holding his leg in a death grip. Draco felt his mudblood's wracking sobs through his thighs and stopped.

Draco didn't comfort his pet when she cried because she'd gotten punished. His position was that bad behavior brought specific consequences. He was unwilling to risk watering down her punishment with inappropriate sympathy. On the other hand, he had a lapful of crying mudblood. Normally she calmed down fairly quickly after he'd stopped, but this time she hadn't. He had to do something. Draco put a hand between her shoulder blades and rubbed, relieved when her tears slowed.

She gulped and got hold of herself with visible effort. "I'm s-sorry."

"Shush." He patted her back a bit more, not sure of what to say or how to say it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get so upset."

"What happened?"

She sniffled. "I started to think about what you'd said and then…"

"Then what?"

"I felt bad." Draco blinked. He'd never gotten this kind of reaction before. He knew his pet was sensitive, but he hadn't expected a fairly mild scolding to upset her like that. For that matter, he'd said far worse things and not got even a batted eyelash. This bore thought.

"Then I suppose it was effective."

She nodded miserably and put her face in her arms. Draco couldn't bear the thought of another outburst ( she cried all the damned time anymore. Was it a female thing? But he didn't mind, not really. He didn't like it, but he didn't mind). He put his hands under her torso and helped her stand.

"Find your corner for a few minutes, and then I want to show you those books."

She calmed rapidly, and so he called her back, holding his surprise in his lap. She sat on the couch with a hiss, face lighting up when she saw what he had. "Magick Moste Evile!"

"I convinced Snape to lend us some books from his private collection. Sit down, now."

He'd even thought to give her parchment and one of those self inking quills. She spent a very enjoyable hour researching. Malfoy summoned a book and wrote on it, trying to conceal his dying curiosity. She jotted busily, sometimes cross referencing or referring to the magical dictionary. It was the first time he'd ever seen Granger in her element, and it was awe-inspiring.

Finally Malfoy put a hand over the top of the book. "I promised Snape I'd have these back by midnight. I've composed a letter for you to send to your father. Copy it in your best hand, and I'd best not find any blots or crossouts, understand?" He wished her a little lapdesk just like his and gathered her materials while she explored, taking advantage of her distraction for a moment. He didn't look at them, but simply walked away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Eleven fifty PM:**

"Worked like a dream, Godfather, and thank you for your books. I've told Kreacher just before two, if that suits you."

"It does. And you brought the papers?"

Snape copied everything onto clean parchment from his bookshelf and glanced it over. His eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch and he breathed sharply. "You're sure this is what she was looking at?"

"I hardly would have brought it, else."

Snape shoot him a look. "Miss Granger won't be the only sixth year sitting uncomfortably if the attitude persists, Mr. Malfoy."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, sir." Draco drew himself to his full height, willing himself not to blush. Failing, but willing it all the same. Snape smirked.

"I'm sure the fact your visits often coincide with periods of inattention and squirming on her part are pure chance, of course. But I certainly wouldn't blame you for taking it upon yourself to correct that attitude, if indeed that is what happened."

Draco could say nothing. He looked at his shoes, embarrassed. This was Snape's way of taking him down a peg or two, that was all. Mean git. Snape kept smiling and gently guided his godson to the door. Opening it, he bent and murmured in Draco's ear "After all, it never did you a bit of harm."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Twelve ten AM:**

When he got back, Hermione was writing busily. He greeted her with a cheerful "I'd better see progress or it's your arse, my girl."

She stopped writing. " I wrote the letter but rephrased it."

"Why did you do that?"

"Because I never write like that. They'd think I'd been drinking if I sent them this." She held up his carefully crafted letter. He glowered.

"It's an excellent letter."

"It's very good, it just isn't me. They'd know I didn't write this."

He took the letter away, smoothing it. He'd had a hard time with it, being as he didn't know how muggles expressed such sentiments

"_Honoured sir,_

_Craving your forgiveness, the lowest and most miserable of children takes pen in hand to humbly beseech your pardon, and express deepest contrition for the unpardonable offense committed against all reason, and against the dignitas of our House._

_Please give me whichever correction you deem most fitting, as I wish to wholly submit myself to your authority, and live only to please yourself and my dear and most beloved mother._

_Your obedient daughter,_

_Hermione Granger_ ".

"What parent wouldn't want to receive a letter like this?"

"Mine, for a start. Muggles don't express themselves like that."

"What does yours say, then?"

"_Dear Dad,_

_I'm sorry we fought earlier. If you're still willing, I would definitely like to go on hols with you and Mum. Send her my love, and I hope you're well._

_Love,_

_Hermione_."

Draco shook his head. "You actually dare send that?"

"Yes, of course."

He sighed. So much work to do. "It's so… _informal_. And it hardly sounds very sorry, if you ask me."

"We had a disagreement, Draco. I didn't torch the house."

" It's unacceptable that you disagreed at all."

"Muggles expect teenagers to argue with their parents."

He laughed. "You're making that up!"

"I'm not. It's considered normal."

Still laughing, he shook his head. "If you had a family like mine, Mother would have taken you upstairs for a good long talk like the one we had."

"I have trouble picturing your mother doing a thing like that. She seems so fragile."

"Mother? She is, but it would be her duty. It wouldn't be right for Father to do it, you being a girl and all. That isn't to say he couldn't, mind you, but only for something really serious."

Hermione suddenly had an uncomfortable feeling the conversation wasn't quite as hypothetical as it might have been. She looked away and said firmly "It's a moot point, and anyway, I'm an adult."

"Doesn't matter. Women are always liable for chastisement, if not from their parents then their husbands and in-laws."

Hermione's eyes went wide. "That's barbaric!"

"No, it isn't. Women get care and protection from their families, and in return the family expects obedience and respect. When one side fails to uphold the bargain…" he trailed off . Draco found himself wondering what would happen the first time Hermione did something his mother or father deemed worthy of immediate correction. He had a feeling there would be an incident unless he trained her about this as well.

"Speaking of discipline, there's a little girl who needs to be slippered before bedtime. Whoever could that be?"

Resigned, Hermione stood and pulled her skirt up and her knickers down, lay over his knee. Draco couldn't have felt more pleased. "Good girl, Hermione."

He summoned the slipper and raised it high.

**THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK **

"Why don't you throw fits, Hermione Jane?"

"Owww! SlIpperhurtstoomuch!"

He laughed. "Not quite what I was looking for. Try it again."

**THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK **

"OWW! VERYBAD!"

"That's right, it is. You're only a little girl, and I expect a certain amount of naughtiness from you."

**THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK **

"But I will not tolerate fits, because that tells me you don't trust me to make the best choice for you."

**THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK**

"And you certainly will not disobey your elders while I have any say in the matter. You've been taught better than that, and I expect your behavior to indicate it."

**THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK **

"And if you do it anyway, expect to have your bum whacked until it burns. That's what seems to get through to you the best, so I'm going to hold you on my knee and smack you until you howl and cry like the little girl you are."

**THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK **

He stopped long enough to get both her legs under one of his. She cried harder, knowing it meant he was going to paddle her sit spots, but didn't try to resist him. He could feel the tension leaving her body; it was a sign they were close to the edge.

"I need you to be a very brave little girl, Hermione. Can you do that?"

"Y-y'sir."

"I'm going to smack you very hard right where you sit. I know you hate it because it hurts so much, but I expect you to lie still and try not to reach back."

He was as good as his word. Hand locked tightly on his leg, Hermione endured, bawling, until she simply couldn't anymore. She went limp and Draco gave a single scorching whack to either thigh and then put the slipper down.

She calmed quickly, especially considering how upset she'd been earlier. He kept her across her lap until her sobs reduced themselves to sniffling breaths and then guided her up. "You may rub, Hermione, for being such a good, brave girl about your punishment."

She hopped from foot to foot, gasping as she cooled her burning backside, rubbing the sting out as much as possible. Not that it helped much, but it was something, and it beat a session on the stool or in the corner.

Malfoy motioned her closer. She went still, hoping it wasn't more punishment. It was, in fact, a quick kiss. "Tibby?"

Tibby appeared. "What is young Master needing?"

"Take Miss upstairs and bathe her, then get her dressed for bed. I shall be up in a few moments."

Hermione found herself in the bathroom in short order, the chipper elf humming to herself. Feeling supremely awkward, she turned her back on the little creature so she could undress. A tiny hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Oh no, Miss, Tibby is doing that."

"That won't be necessary, I'm quite sure I can manage by myself."

"Young Master is saying Tibby does it."

"Yes, but--"

"Does Miss want Tibby to be asking young Master?" Tibby smiled at Hermione, and Hermione thought irritably to herself that the elf had spent far too long with the Malfoys. She wanted to fight, but given Malfoy's current mood, it would only get her smacked again, and the elf would undress her anyway.

"No, Tibby, that's quite all right."

"Arms up, please, Miss."

Within a few moments Tibby had stripped Hermione to the skin, and the mortified girl stepped into the tub with a sigh of relief, a sigh that turned into a yelp the second her burning arse touched the hot water.

In similar fashion Tibby soaped and scrubbed her, shampooed her hair and doused her with ice water to close her pores. After a quick rub down with scented oil to soften her skin, she was bundled into her nightgown and led to the bedroom.

Unfortunately for Draco, Hermione had cunningly used her time with Tibby,embarrassing as it was, to start a very interesting conversation with Tibby. The elf was quite voluble, and obvious cared about Malfoy very much. Like a proud grandparent, Tibby was more than willing to tell Hermione anything she cared to ask about her young Master.

"So he was bad a lot, Tibby?"

"Very often, Miss. When he is seven, Madam is saying if he is being any naughtier, she is wearing her hairbrush out on his backside."

Hermione bit her lip hard to keep from laughing. "And he really took his father's wand that time? And tried to transfigure a tea cup into a mouse?"

" Oh yes, Master is being very upset with young Master."

"I can imagine. Mr. Malfoy doesn't seem like the kind to take that sort of thing lightly."

"No, Miss. He is smacking young Master and sending him to the corner for a long time."

She bit the inside of her lip. "That's too bad."

Tibby nodded and smoothed the hair in preparation for braiding it. "May Tibby be asking a question?"

"Yes, of course."

"Why is Miss not having a maid like Tibby? She is needing one."

Hermione was momentarily caught up short, searching for an answer. "I like to do things for myself."

Tibby carefully said nothing. Having known Miss only a short time, it was obvious to Tibby that she got in a lot of trouble, the sort that could have been avoided if only she'd had adequate supervision. In fact, she rather reminded the elf of Miss Trixie when she young, smart but wild.

Lucky for Miss that she had Tibby, then. And young Master, of course. It was obvious he cared about Miss. She finished the braid and tied the end with a scrap of ribbon. Hermione thanked her, climbing into the bed to await Malfoy.

He came in a few moments later, noticing how pink he cheeks were. Delightful, really. He kicked off his shoes and clamored in to stroke her hair. She closed her eyes for a minute, enjoying the sensation. He was making no move to undress, she noticed, heart sinking.

"Was my little girl good for Tibby?"

"I was. She and I had the nicest chat."

This should perhaps have rang a warning bell in Draco's mind, but he was young and had not yet learned the requisite sense of self preservation that might have warned an older, more experienced man. He nodded. Granger would get used to having a maid, and he had a built in baby sitter. He really did feel better knowing someone could watch her and make sure she wasn't poking about in things she had no business in.

"So Tibby was your nanny?"

"Something like that."

"She says you were a very cute child."

Draco snorted. " Granger, Malfoys are not cute. Ever. For any reason."

"She thinks you were."

"Tibby is a house elf. What do they know?"

Hermione grinned. Draco noticed when she smiled that way, she looked almost…predatory. Normally this would have thrilled him, but now he felt uneasy. She leant a bit closer.

"I'm tempted to owl your mother. Something about pictures from your third birthday? Cake everywhere?"

Draco's eyes widened. "Treacherous creature! And that elf is in for it as well."

Hermione sobered. "I talked her into telling me, she didn't want to. If you're going to punish someone, punish me."

Draco smirked. He was firmly back in control. " I need to take care of something, shouldn't take more than twenty minutes. You stay just like that."

She nodded and shut her eyes, seized with nameless dread.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**One fifty eight AM**:

Draco left his pet and traveled down to Snape's private quarters. He was moving at a fast, hard clip, and nearly ran over that hideous cat of Filch's. Half pounding the door, he entered at once when bidden. Tibby called Kreacher and the daft old thing answered. They went over the plan a final time and set the date. Everything was in place. It took exactly fifteen minutes to finalize. By the time he got back she'd fallen asleep. He debated swatting her and decided against it. He'd find another way to wake her up.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Two twenty five AM:**

Hermione woke to the feeling of something cold on her still burning skin. She instinctively tried to jerk away, until Draco's voice came from behind her. "Can we, Granger? Do you mind?" She shook her head. Something in his voice made her take the phials and drank them. Part of her wondered if she ought to be afraid, for he didn't sound himself, but she probed it and found trust in the place where fear ought to be.

He rolled her over and mounted her without another word. She opened her legs, accepting him. It was a strange thing, doing it clothed, but the feeling of his jumper rubbing against her nipples, stinging them sweetly through her thin nightgown, was wonderful. She'd been slightly aroused when they started, but the strange sensation drove her higher than ever before. Her nails dug into his shoulders and she sighed.

She arched, opening wider, and he took her up on the invitation and moved faster, harder. Anything that would drown out the memory of what he had just arranged. Anything to forget himself awhile.

He spent himself so suddenly it almost surprised him. He pulled out at once, scourgified them both and stripped off his outer clothes. He didn't care the slightest bit about modesty or propriety or anything except being there with her.

It had come on him as soon as it he'd sent Kreacher on his way that he had just ordered a man's death. Draco was surprised by how hard this was. He'd assumed he would feel so proud and brave and clever that the old man's death would be a cipher. He didn't and it wasn't.

He was doing it for Hermione, he reminded himself. She was worth an old man's life. He put an arm out and she came at once and he buried his face in her neck, feeling how warm and alive she was. Everything would be all right. It had to be, and it would. He was a Malfoy; he could make things in his image.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. I just got some bad news, that's all."

"Is it family?"

"Something like that. Please, let's don't talk. Just lie here with me."

So she did. Neither of them slept much that night. Mostly they held one another in the silence of the night. It seemed right to each of them, though neither could quite say why, much as they might have wanted to. When Hermione drifted off at about three, Draco debated letting go of her but didn't. He needed her close to him, breathing gently. He could feel her heart beating, the heart that led her to beg for the elf's punishment. The heart he had to save, no matter the cost. No matter the feeling like his soul was being rent.

"I'm here, love. It's going to be all right, Hermione, I swear."

Four days later, a bomb went off in Dumbledore's study. The Dark Lord was well pleased.

**A/N**: **SPOILER**-

"Dear Mudblood girl,

I cannot tell you who I am but I want to warn you. Master Malfoy is in danger. The degenerate Halfblood is plotting against him. I am forbidden to speak to him directly. You must do you best to help, I have seen what he is to you. Find a reliable elf and I shall talk to it. Have the elf call me and I will answer.

Your friend."


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Love to reviewers**

**If anyone would be willing to allow me to bounce ideas off of them, please let me know via PM. I don't need a beta reader for grammar or anything like that, but it's be great if someone were willing to listen give suggestions about plot points, etc.**

**Since my books are unavailable, any mistakes in the Vow are mine and mine alone.**

**I'm really not a Ron person, but I hope I've done him justice here.**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Kreacher was a bastard, definitely in house elf terms and very probably in human terms, but he wasn't a really malicious one, not on purpose. He'd had no compunction about planting the bomb in the chimney because he'd had absolutely no idea that's what it was, and frankly would not have much cared if he had known, because he was much a blood purist as his late Mistress. But at a personal level, he was driven by a very simple principal; Kreacher helped those he liked.

So he regretted taunting the Halfblood, whom he hated, because it brought trouble on young Master Malfoy, whom he liked. Kreacher never wanted the young Master to get hurt; he'd only wanted to twist the Halfblood's nose a bit. After the big explosion, the Halfblood had summoned Kreacher and peppered him with questions.

"Kreacher is not knowing what a bomb is, and anyway, young Master Malfoy wouldn't be involving himself in such a thing."

The Halfblood's eyes, swimming behind thick lenses, narrowed. "How would you know?"

Kreacher shrugged airily. " Purebloods is not dirtying themselves with such things. If someone is trying to kill Dumbledore, Kreacher would be looking at the filthy mudbloods first."

"Have you seen him doing anything suspicious?"

Here Kreacher paused. He certainly had, but since it was such a general question, he could choose to evade it. On the other hand, there was potential for a little sport with the hated Halfblood and he decided to indulge.

"Kreacher is seeing a great many things, Master. A great many, yes. Some of them is very… interesting."

"Was any of it Dark?"

"No, not Dark."

"What, then?" Harry hated the elf more with every passing day. Always skulking and muttering, speaking in riddles and half answers. Harry had seen Star Wars when he was nine, and considered the director ought to have just hired Kreacher to play the green alien. He made roughly as much sense, and it would have been cheaper.

"Master Malfoy is having unusual taste in friends."

"Bully for him." Malfoy had tons of friends, or at least hangers on. Harry shook his head, annoyed, and then the light clicked.

"Malfoy's got a girl?"

Kreacher smiled. "Oh, yes. Very pretty, too."

What did this have to with the price of tea in China? Harry shook his head and waved the elf away. It was probably that bitch Parkinson, or maybe the tall red haired one ( Davis? Davies?) And then it came to him and he went to find Ron.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As Hermione walked into the dorm, a shoe went flying by her head. A pink trainer with glitter shot purple laces, she noticed with distaste. She drew her wand and fell into the proper defensive stance, watching to see where the attack would come from.

"You w-whore!"

She whirled. "_What_?". Lavender Brown, eyes red, was sitting on her bed, hugging a plush unicorn and glaring murderously at Hermione. She was also holding a waterglass, clearly debating whether or not to throw it.

"What are you on about, Lavender?"

"You tempted my Won-Won away from me! It's your fault!"

"What? Ron and I haven't even spoken since he got hurt!"

"A likely story." Lavender sniffled and dropped the glass onto the bed. Hermione let her wand fall to her side but didn't put it away. She cautiously took a step forward and then another.

"Have you and he had a fight?"

Lavender burst into fresh tears. "Worse! He thinks I'm spying for D-Draco Malfoy!"

Hermione's blood froze in her veins. "Why would he think that?"

"He won't say! It must be because of Zambini and I last year, but it was only a few times, I swear! And I've never even talked to Malfoy! Never!" She wailed into the fuzzy unicorn, who, one would almost swear, was wearing an expression of horror at being trapped so.

Hermione swallowed dryly, glad Brown wasn't paying attention. She went to her dresser and pulled out a jumper she didn't need, pulled it on. Hefting the rucksack again, she left the girl's dorm, meaning to make for a disused classroom she sometimes studied in, the same one she and Malfoy had gone to after the DA was caught.

"Hermione." Harry was standing by the door of the boy's dorm, hands in pockets. "I think Ron wants to talk to you."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Oi, Hermione."

"Hello, Ron."

They were in one of the many abandoned rooms that pocked the castle. Not 'her' room, but not far, either. It seemed wrong to take Ron someplace where she and Malfoy had once been, even if it might have been a comfort. She was in Gryffindor, after all. She could do this.

"I, uhhh, I was wondering…" Ron's stomach twisted like a wet face flannel. Over the past few weeks, he'd really missed Hermione. Lavender was pretty, but she wasn't terribly bright, and frankly, she clung. And the baby-talk was nauseating. Ginny hated her, too. In short, Ron had sold his birthright for pottage, and he was feeling buyer's remorse.

"I really miss you, Hermione." He blushed nearly to the roots of his hair and looked away. When he looked back, her face hadn't changed.

Hermione's heart dropped. After all her hoping and hints for two years, he chose now to do this? After he'd broken up with Brown? Had he even broken up with Brown? She stood up straighter and said "I've missed talking to you, Ron."

"No, I mean I _miss_ you."

"Oh."

"And I'm really sorry about what happened that day after the match, and then that time in the infirmary where she called you a--" he stopped. She still hadn't said anything. This wasn't how he thought this would go.

"I appreciate your apology, Ron. Was that all?"

"Hermione, I—I'm trying to tell you that I--"

She held up a hand. "You don't have to say it."

"Then you feel that way too?"

She bit her lip. "No. You'll always be my friend, Ron, but…"

"But what?"

She inhaled. "Do you remember what I told you after the Yule Ball? About leaving me as your last choice?"

He nodded, face white. "This is different!"

"Different how?"

"Because I was only with Brown because I was trying to make you jealous!"

"You let her insult me, Ron, not once but twice. You didn't stand up for me. She called me something really awful and you didn't even ask her to apologize."

"She was angry! It's not like it was Malfoy or something!"

Hermione forced herself not to react. Tears were stinging her eyes but she would not give in to them. She flashed on Draco's voice, cocky and soothing. '_I'm appalled you're acting as though this is worthy of your consideration._'

"That's irrelevant. I would defend you if the situation were reversed. I'm sorry, Ron. I simply don't feel that way about you."

"You did when we were younger."

"Yes, I did. But we're adults now, and people change. I'll always care about you, but not like that."

She tuned, walking out without another word. Which was good, because Ron didn't want the girl he loved to see him cry.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Neither Ron or Harry had a very good rest of the week, but on the balance, Ron's was worse by a factor of fifty. Harry had no answers for him when it came to Hermione, Hermione herself was endlessly polite and pleasant, but not friendly and never receptive to his continued advances. He did poorly on an exam, his favorite shirt was shrunk by the laundry elf, and he fell off his broom and bruised a sensitive part of himself.

Then came the worst Thursday in the history of teenage boy-dom. The whole day was a comedy of errors, but that's a story all its own. All Hermione knew of it was Harry's frantic summons. "We need to meet, Hermione, please!"

They met in that room which had been the scene of Ron's undoing. He was sitting, paper white, in a chair by the fire. Harry warded the door and brought his friend to stand by the whey faced Weaseley.

"Lavender told Ron…she thinks she might be…pregnant."

"_What_?"

Ron clutched himself with panicky tightness. "I'm going to be a Daddy. My life is over, Mum will kill me. Mum loves babies and she'll still kill me. When she's done killing me, Dad will kill me. And then Bill will kill me. And then Charlie will kill me. And then George will--"

"Ron, she isn't pregnant."

He put his head up, feeling slight hope in his chest. "Hermione?"

"Did the two of you ever…?"

"Ever what?"

She explained it as concisely as she could. "Merlin, no! She only ever let me touch her above the wai—I mean, no, nothing like that."

"Then she isn't pregnant."

"But she said she is."

Hermione huffed. "That's the only possible way. If she says she got pregnant from whatever it is you did, she's lying."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. Was that all?"

Harry shook his head. " I'd like a word, if you wouldn't mind." Ron stood and nearly danced out the door, delighted that his seed had found no fertile soil without at least getting to do whatever it was Hermione had just told him about.

"I'm not convinced. Suppose it's Malfoy's and she's just claiming it's Ron's?"

Hermione snorted. "You think she's that smart?"

Harry let himself smile a bit. "Guess not. How've you been, Hermione? I feel like we never see one another anymore."

She smiled back. "I'm fine, Harry. Was that research helpful?"

"Yes, very. I still haven't found a way to get Slughorn to tell me anything, but…" he shrugged.

Hermione noticed how much older he looked. Not physically, but his eyes seemed to hold less of the mischief she had always appreciated in Harry. Hermione was the voice of reason, the good one, but Harry and Ron's high jinks had allowed her to vicariously enjoy exactly the kind of nonsense she counciled against.

"If something were ever to… happen to you, would you tell me?"

She nodded. "If I thought it would help."

"No, I mean you'd tell me if something came up, right?"

Hermione felt the terrible pull that had consumed Malfoy. Harry was her friend and she was pledged to help him. She loved Harry like a brother. But then there was Malfoy, who was a force unto himself. She felt herself on the edge of a sort of cliff, wavering, unsure.

"Hermione?"

"What makes you ask?"

"Hermione, are you seeing someone?"

She straightened. "What has that got to do with anything?"

"Because…because…I always thought you and Ron…I mean, his parents love you. And you always seemed so…I thought you liked him."

"I do like him. But not in that sense, not anymore. Did you really think I would wait forever, Harry?"

Harry looked away. That was pretty much what he had thought. "But Ron really loves you!"

"He doesn't act it. He let Lavender publicly insult me, not to mention banning me from games because of her jealousy. I'm tired of cleaning up his messes."

Harry winced. She really meant it, and once Hermione had put her foot down, shifting it was like reasoning with a stone. " _Are_ you seeing someone else?"

"Does it matter?"

"Who is he?"

"Someone I care about and who cares about me."

"Yes, but who?"

She shook her head. "That isn't important."

He gently took her arm and looked at the bracelet, shining mellowly in the light. "That's pretty."

"Yes, it is."

"Can I still count on you, Hermione? For what's to come?"

"Of course you can."

They hugged, hard. Harry was pleased to note Hermione felt a bit fatter than she had; she'd gotten worryingly thin for a while. Whoever her bloke was, if he was encouraging her to eat and sleep more, he couldn't be all bad.

She turned to go. Harry decided to stay put, thinking, for a while. As he watched his friend walk down the hall, head held high, the strangest idea popped into his head. He tried to shake it off but there was something in him that worried it like a dog on a bone.

Who would give Hermione a gold bracelet?

Her parents, of course, his mind insisted loudly, but it felt wrong. They didn't strike him as jewelry people, for one. For another, Hermione was a practical person and her parents usually gave her practical gifts.

It's probably not real gold, his mind pointed out. Or her parents wanted to give her something special. Or her Gran left it to her. Except she would have said, and he'd felt how light it was. Hadn't he read somewhere that fine gold jewelry was light to the touch?

And there was something indefinably wizarding about it. Just as most people, in a crowded airport, can locate their countrymen by means of subtle, mainly nonverbal cues, so can the muggle-born or --raised instinctively tell, more often than not, when a thing is muggle made. This wasn't.

Which made the question, then: what wizard would give Hermione a gold bracelet? He knew few people who could afford such things at the best of times, and now with things about to fall apart, who had money just lying around for something like that?

Kreacher would have told him if.... Hermione just felt shy about this bloke, that was all. Maybe it was Krum. Yes, that had to be it. She and Krum were getting serious, and she didn't want to tell anyone.

Having found a solution his mind could accept, he tried to push the matter aside and mainly succeeded. But every so often over the next few days the idea would reoccur, and he would sit still, skin prickling, stomach heaving a little.

Malfoy. The idea was stupid, totally impossible…yet oddly, darkly compelling all the same.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

For his part, Draco moved about in the aftermath of the explosion, vacillation between fear and exhilaration, hope and self hatred. They weren't telling anyone about Dumbledore; he might have been dead, totally unscathed, or somewhere in between.

And Potter was still following him. One evening Draco ducked into the loo, meaning to comb his hair. He'd just met with Snape, who also professed to know nothing. Much to Draco's disgust, his godfather was also refusing to tell him what Granger's research was about. Which had been the point of the exercise; Draco was nothing if not nosy. So he was in a fairly foul temper to start with.

Then he heard footsteps and perceived the gleam of candlelight on Potter's stupid glasses. His frustrations swelled to fever pitch, and he set his comb down and turned to face his rival. "Some reason you're following me, Potter? Come to confess your love or something?"

He meant it in jest but Potter's face never changed. Then after a moment he said very quietly "I could ask the same of you, Malfoy. Just what are you playing at?"

Draco had time to wonder what Potter was on about before the dark haired boy continued. "I figured it out, you know. About you and Hermione. I don't know how you did it—whether it was a spell or a potion or something—but it's going to stop. I won't let you hurt her."

"Me and the mudblood? Don't make me vomit." Draco tried to push past Potter, intent on getting away and then contacting his mudblood as quickly as possible, when Potter was suddenly armed. Draco could duel as well as anyone, and then he was armed too, and the curses began.

It was a good duel. Potter's form was horrid but he was quick and sly. If things hadn't been so serious Draco might have enjoyed himself. He sometimes thought he and Potter could have been great friends; there was something hard and sharp and ruthless in Potter, just as there was in Draco himself.

Then Potter called a spell he'd never heard before, and Draco was engulfed in agony. He gasped and dropped, aware there was blood on the floor and his chest and his eyes and his mouth, and knowing it was his. He didn't care; he felt cold and sleepy and peaceful and sad. Then Snape was there and the blood had stopped. Potter was standing frozen, hand over his mouth. He came back into himself, and realized Potter was trying to get away.

"He knows! Stop him!" Snape leapt up and Draco heard him say something. A second later Snape came back, followed by a petrified, levitated Potter. Looking at his frozen student, Snape made a faint moue of distaste and obliviated him before letting him go, stepping from the lav as quietly as smoke.

Potter blinked, looking round in confusion. He remembered dueling Malfoy, and hurting him with the spell from his textbook, but how did he end up on the floor? Draco put his hands to his knees and bent a bit. "Why don't you mind your own business for a change? You'll kill fewer loved ones that way."

Potter glared hatefully back. "I won't let you hurt her, Malfoy."

Malfoy laughed. "Suppose for a second it's true. What makes you think you get a say?"

Potter's eyes were very wide in the flickering light. "Then it is true!"

"I never said that."

"You sadistic tosser, how could you--"

Draco help up a hand. "You're assuming she gets nothing from our…arrangement?"

"What could you possibly offer her?"

Draco shook his head. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, Potter."

"Understand you somehow coerced her into--"

Draco shook his head again. " You know what I offer her, Potter? Attention for her own sake. I don't use her to do my dirty work."

"I've never asked her to--"

"You wouldn't have to. She's generous that way, Granger, to a fault. And what do you do for her in return, hmm? What do you even know about her, Potter?"

"Loads, she and Ron are my best friends."

"What's her favorite muggle book, then?"

Potter shrugged. "I don't know, she's never said."

"She's told me. She's even lent it to me to read."

"That hardly means anything."

"No? I think it means she likes being treated like something other than everyone else's private library, don't you? Not that she gets any thanks for it."

Potter got very still. Draco He pressed on, knowing it was madness and too angry to care. "For that matter, what thanks did she get for almost killing herself at the Ministry? If either of us is likely to harm Granger, Potter, it's you."

"What the hell do you know about it?"

"I know Granger hadn't eaten or slept in days when we met that time. What kind of friend are you? Did you even bother to get her to the infirmary afterward?"

"If I didn't know any better, Malfoy, I'd think you cared."

"I do care, Potter, and I've no intention of letting you fuck up her life because you're an idiot."

"I'm an idiot? I'm not the Death Eater, you git."

Malfoy sneered. "Where's the proof, Potter?"

"Roll up your sleeve."

"Fuck you."

Snape was waiting in the corridor, not wanting Potter to see him, and now he poked his head in to make sure they were alive. It was too quiet.

"So now Potter knows, or thinks he knows. What will you do, Potter run back and tell all your ickle friends that Granger's been fraternizing with the enemy?"

"Of course not. I'll just tell Hermione--"

"That I'm an evil, Death Eating sod and she shouldn't play with me anymore?"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "Look, why don't you shut up? This whole situation is insane."

"You're telling me?"

"Do you really think they wouldn't hurt her, Malfoy?"

"That's for me to worry about, Potter." But he looked slightly sick, and Harry could tell he'd hit a nerve.

"On the basis of what, a few months? I've been her friend for six years."

"Yes, and we've established how many times it's almost killed her. We aren't going to get anywhere arguing about this like girls."

Harry nodded. "So what now? I have information you don't want me to have."

"And you nearly killed me in a stupid fight that you began for a reason you don't want to get out."

Draco took a deep breath. "Do you mean to take her with you, Potter? When you fight?"

"If she wants to go. Do you?"

"If I could."

"She'd never."

"Don't you think I know that?"

Draco put his wand down, confident Snape was covering Potter, and rolled up the sleeve of his right arm. He held it out to Potter. "Go on, you do it too."

Snape understood. He looked Draco in the eye, saw the resolve there, and realized this was the only course. The boy had chosen, and Snape would help him because he was bound to it, and because he saw in Draco the potential for repeating Snape's own life if steps were not taken. He raised his wand.

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Do you, Draco Malfoy, vow to do everything within your power to protect Hermione Granger from harm at the hands of her enemies, acknowledging her autonomy and the role of Fate, and in the understanding this might prove impossible?"

"I do."

"Do you, Harry Potter, vow to do everything within your power to protect Hermione Granger from harm at the hands of her enemies, acknowledging her autonomy and the role of Fate, and in the understanding this might prove impossible?"

"I do." It was done. Potter released Malfoy's hand and they looked at one another, slightly awed by the magnitude of what they had done. Snape, without a backward glance, departed, keeping nearby to

Draco pulled the rags of his clothing about himself and picked up his rucksack. "Oh, and Potter?" His fist lashed out and struck Harry's nose with a wet crunch.

"Payback is hell."

He turned to go. Potter wiped his nose on his sleeve and called to his back "Malfoy? Do you love her?"

Malfoy turned back to give him an unreadable look. "What if I do, Potter?"

Potter said nothing, shouldering his own books and preparing to go his own way.

"Potter?"

"What?"

"The Scarlet Letter."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione was reading in the Common Room when Harry came in. He looked very pale and he sounded like he had a bad cold. He walked over to her chair and sat on the arm. "Can I ask you a weird question?"

She marked her place. "Of course."

"If you could take any one muggle book to an island, which would it be?"

"What?"

"Just answer."

She frowned. "I don't think you'd have heard of it."

"Try me."

"The Scarlet Letter."

Harry stood slowly, as though his legs would not support him. "Are you all right?"

He smiled tightly. "Fine, fine. Think I'll turn in."

She shrugged to herself and opened her book again. Boys were strange sometimes.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Love to all reviewers**

**Special thanks to C. and T., who gave me great ideas and support for this chapter.**

**This was absolutely excruciating to write--I hope everyone likes it.**

**The section marked with an asterix was taken near verbatim from Hawthorne's 'The Scarlet Letter'. I have trimmed it slightly to fit it to the story--my apologies to Hawthorne.**

**A note of clarification follows at the bottom--it's a small spoiler.**

**The warding spell means 'I do not lose.'**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The Dark Lord frowned. "That's all very well, but 'maimed' is hardly the same as killed, is it, Draco?"

Draco hung his head. "No, my Lord." He fought the urge to twist his robe in his hands like a scolded child. He hoped his mother would not see what the Dark Lord would do to him. He needed to relieve himself desperately.

"You are young. I suppose you can be forgiven, so long as you do not fail again."

Draco dropped to his knees and kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robe. The spontaneous act of self abasement must have pleased Voldemort, because he laughed, a metallic sound like ice hitting sheet metal. "Very good. I look forward with great interest to seeing what you have done with the mudblood. Perhaps I'll have dear Bella pay her a little visit. After all, she's practically family now, isn't she, your mudblood whore?"

Draco cringed, hearing Hermione called thus. Albus Dumbledore had six days, nineteen hours, thirteen minutes and four seconds left to live.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Uncharacteristically, Malfoy greeted her with an embrace. A hard one, the second they were out of sight. Hermione hugged him back, feeling a worm of fear crawl down her spine. When he released her, she stepped back and studied him.

Ghostly pale, with dark circles under both eyes. He looked thinner, too. His hair needed to be combed. He smiled wanly at her and said nothing. She noticed his hands shook ever so slightly. He led her inside and pointed at the divan, sat beside her.

"Something's happened that requires my immediate attention. I'll be leaving late tonight. May not be back for some time."

She felt ill for a moment for no reason at all. "What about finals?"

"Snape's cleared it with the other teachers. One of the advantages of nepotism."

"Can I help?"

"No, it's… complicated. But I want to spend tonight with you. Would you do me a favour?"

"Yes, of course."

"Don't ask me about it."

"All right."

He took her hand and flipped it over, traced a nail over the lines of her palm. "I want to make sure my little girl is taken care of while I'm away."

Hermione held his fingers a moment. "I'll be careful, Draco. Just worry about whatever your business is."

"I'm leaving Tibby. She's been briefed extensively as to what you are and are not allowed to do."

Hermione started to protest and then stopped. " There's nothing I can say to dissuade you?"

"No."

Hermione laughed a little. "How is it going to work, having a house elf at home? My parents are muggles.

"I've explained."

"Oh." She moved closer and put her head to his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her, sighing from the soul. His little girl…he'd come back for her soon. Everything would be fine, just fine. If he couldn't protect her, then Potter would, or even Tibby.

He rose and picked her up. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes. You?"

He lied with a gesture as he took her upstairs. The tub was full already and they stripped together. She was looking away. He wasn't. He noticed things he never had before, the curve of a wrist, the elegant angles of hipbones and knees. He washed her hair and soaped her all over, memorizing every inch for the long, cold nights he knew were ahead.

Draco had a mental image, culled from a book he'd seen as a child. An oyster, still in the cold, night dark water, untouched by the eddying currents. That was him now, layers of hardness holding a tiny morsel of life, a living softness cradled in stone.

He thought of the pearl in the oyster, the grain of sand brought to beauty by the coating the oyster lavishes on it, a little at a time. A slow protectiveness, a creeping sense of comfort, and then, finally, there comes a day when the oyster reaches for the grain, and finds a thing of beauty instead.

He stood, covering himself with his hands, and called for Tibby. The little elf appeared, weeping, knowing that young Master had to go away and she couldn't go. She bravely dried her eyes on the hem of her pillow case and soldiered on, attending to her young Master's female for him. She found some small comfort in knowing that she could still be of use; and at least she was well needed.

They dressed in silence, went to the bedroom in silence. The phial was resting on Hermione's pillow and she swallowed it and climbed under the covers. Draco likewise climbed under. He moved atop her and gently inserted his fingers, expecting it would arouse him. Nothing. He put a hand on himself and masturbated. Nothing. His breath was coming in quick, hard spurts, something akin to panic filling his chest.

"This has never happened before."

"Then let's do something else."

"Like what?". She smiled, trying to reassure him, and spread her legs. "Finish what you started, Malfoy."

Draco forced himself to take a deep breath. "You don't mind?"

"No. If you'd rather we just lay here and talked, that would be all right."

He shook his head. "No, I want to make you…how do muggles call that?"

"Orgasm."

"It's important to me."

She studied his face a beat too long and then rolled over, quickly thrusting a pillow under her pelvis.

"What are you doing?"

"It feels good this way, sometimes. I'll tell you when you've hit the right place." She rose up a little, not looking at him in the shiny teak, and he found it an enormous relief to be freed from scrutiny. After tonight, he realized, win or lose, he would never be free of curious stares again. He'd always be the boy—the man—who'd killed Dumbledore.

He gently inserted a finger inside her, palm up, then two. She was warm and wet and smooth inside. He advanced by millimeters until he found that round little pebble. He began to lightly stroke the nub, pleased by the way she was reacting. He rubbed up and down as gently as he could, hearing her sigh and moan a little.

Curious, he rubbed harder, utilizing a figure eight movement, and was delighted when she tensed, gasping his name. "Someone liked that. Think I'll do it again." He did, and her muscles started to contract hard around his fingers. Her hands were tangled in the bedding, white knuckled. "Draco."

"Louder, Hermione."

"Draco."

He stroked a little harder, and used his other hand to reach around her and fondle her breasts. Her nipples were hot and hard and textured. He suddenly wanted to see her face, bright pink cheeks and shining eyes."Roll over, love, I want to watch."

He drew his fingers out and she flopped on her back. He put one hand on either side of her belly. Her hips were still resting on the pillow, a fine pink shadow all over her face and chest. Her eyes were closed. He felt daring and hopeless and damned, and that helped to lower his inhibitions. He put his head between her legs and, steeling himself, gently spread her open and inserted his tongue.

Hermione jumped. Whatever she'd expected, it hadn't been his tongue, hot and dense, with a slightly rough texture that made her nerve ending twitch with pleasure. He pressed her back down and lapped experimentally. She was salty and viscous and hot on the inside. He explored a moment, using his tongue, and when he found she gasped. He flicked the tip over her, first lightly and then harder. She moaned. Without either of them realizing it, she dug her fingernails into his shoulder. Blunt as they were, in the days to come he'd have five parallel marks on both sides of his neck.

She orgasmed with a final, emphatic "Draco!" He gently pulled his tongue out and got up, half running to the bathroom and swishing his mouth with mouthwash. He liked making Granger moan and tremble, but it would have been nice if she didn't excrete that slimy stuff_._ Or if it tasted better. On the whole, he felt all right with what he'd done; she'd looked happy and tired when he finished.

Hermione was lying on her back, legs still spread, enjoying the final lingering sensation from the best orgasm she'd ever had. She wasn't sure she could look Malfoy in the face ever again, but she felt so good she almost didn't care. Giggling for no reason, she drifted, feeling happy and cared about, warm all over.

"Don't sleep yet, we aren't finished."

She sat up. "Thank you. That was…thank you." She kissed him to show she didn't think what they had done was dirty or disgusting ( even if she did, just a little bit). He nodded and laid down beside her, lost in thought.

"You really don't mind we couldn't have congress?"

"Not at all. 'Congress'?"

He shrugged. "What? We can't keep calling it 'that', Granger. It's not dignified."

"Neither is what we did."

"If you can make a better job of naming it, little girl, then by all means do so. As for me, I'm going to clean you off."

He called for a wet face flannel and a basin from Tibby, making no effort to disguise what they'd been doing. Hermione found herself blushing, unable to look at the elf, who apparently saw nothing unusual in what they were doing, disappearing in silence after her chore was done. Malfoy gently wiped her clean, drying her with a handtowel. He rinsed the cloth in cool water and set the basin on the bedside table.

"That feels very nice."

"I'm glad, but remember whom you're dealing with. Everything I do has an ulterior motive."

With that, he reached over and pulled her across his lap. She squeaked as he pinned her down and raised a hand.

It burned! It amazed her that as often as she was smacked, it never got even a little easier. Handsmackings were dreadful because they were just so intimate and childish. That struck her as being fine, at the moment. She could sense something terribly, dreadfully wrong with Draco; a smacking would normalize them both.

Hermione and Draco shared a love of ritual, thought they didn't know it as such at the time. As much as she hated the actual smacking, she liked the ritual aspect. It made her feel safe to know what would happen next, even if it was something she absolutely detested. And she liked what came after; being talked to gently, put in the corner to calm down, or just right to bed. She could stay in that wonderful mindset as long as she liked and Malfoy never scolded or complained. He actually enjoyed it, from what she could tell.

As he smacked his pet, Draco forced himself to concentrate solely on what he was doing. His pet was reacting beautifully, kicking and howling , skin radiantly pink. He held her tighter and whacked her thighs until his hand burned. Then he stopped and flipped her right side up, pressed her head to his chest to feel her tears.

"Heard it hurts more wet. Is it true?"

She sniffled and nodded. "I think it might have been because we …were intimate beforehand."

He moved his chin was resting on her head. " Do you need more, Hermione?"

"More intimacy or more smacking?"

"Both. Either."

She closed her eyes for a moment, deep in thought. When she did that, she wrinkled her nose like a puppy. He ran a finger lightly down the bridge and she smiled. She wished she could feel this safe forever.

"Yes."

"Which?"

"Smack me more?"

He smirked a little. "You've a taste for it now?"

"Oh, no! But I always feel so good after. And I want it to help me remember tonight."

"Choose what you think you need."

She blushed and murmured something in very softly, eyes averted. He nodded and helped her stand. Finding his trousers, he motioned for Hermione to bend over the bed. He could see nervousness in every line. Should he insist on something else? He pulled his belt free of their loops and doubled it. No, he decided, she had asked and he wanted to make her happy, tonight of all nights.

There she was, splayed for his pleasure. What would he have given, that night in the library, to see her this way? Then things had got complicated. His bracelet was shining at her wrist. His little girl. He wished salve and it appeared in his hand. Then her voice, just a little shaky.

"No salve. Please?"

"You'll have stripes."

"I know."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

He gently stroked her skin, feeling the warmth there. "When I say enough, it's done. If you still need more, it'll be my hand. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

**CRACK**! **CRACK**!

**CRACK**! **CRACK**!

**CRACK**! **CRACK**!

Hermione loved it and hated it. This position was awful, humiliating. She felt stripped to her bones, open for him to peruse. But she also understood that every hideous stinging stripe was a promise, an endearment. He was taking care of her, every bit of her. She relaxed, even as the strap bit into the crease between bottom and thigh. He gave her half a dozen on her thighs and she went limp, clean and blank and empty on the inside.

**CRACK**! **CRACK**!

**CRACK**! **CRACK**!

**CRACK**! **CRACK**!

Draco stopped, panting. She had twelve carefully spaced welts from the curve of her backside to partway down her thighs. He'd been careful not to cross them, wanting them to be distinct so she could enjoy watching them heal. He was sorry he wouldn't get to see it, but knowing she would think about him every time she sat mollified him a bit. He sat on the bed, rubbing her back almost absently.

"Hermione, I---I'd do anything to keep you safe."

"I know. I feel the same way about you."

Draco sighed and then nodded to himself, as though something had been decided. "Pull down your nightgown and kneel on the floor, Granger. Don't ask me any questions, just do as I say. No, sit on your heels, arms at your sides. Close your eyes."

Hermione shivered. Eyes closed, her hearing was slightly heightened. His hand, cold and rough and familiar, pressed her forehead, the heel of his palm right between her eyebrows. He chanted something under his breath, a sort of half song, running it together. Then he took his hand away and said softly "All right."

Draco had just committed an act of utter blasphemy so complete his very bones were cold with dread. He'd commended her to his family line, the first time any Malfoy had done such a thing for a mudblood; her anima was protected by the same spirits as he and his parents.

"If anything should happen, Granger…'he swallowed and made himself go on. ' When I was seven my mother had another baby. It would have been a girl. Drusilla, they wanted to call her. If you're ever in a situation where you think it would help you…if my father is there…call out her name."

His sister had been born months early, tiny and blue, and died as quickly and tragically as she'd lived. But the act of drawing breath, of living for a moment, had granted her being, so when she'd died, she'd become an ancestor. Hearing the name of a Malfoy ancestor would bring his father up short, enough for Hermione to speak to him. It was a long shot, a million to one, but it was something.

"Draco, what--?"

He pressed a finger to her lips. "Say it, Granger. Drusilla Malfoy."

"D-Drusilla. Drusilla Malfoy. Draco, I wish you would tell me what this is about."

"I can't. I swear, Granger, I'd give anything to be able to." Then, to her horror, he started to cry.

Hermione leapt to her feet. "Draco?"

He turned away, sobbing convulsively, trying to shield his face so she would not see. Hermione took a hesitant step and then another, feeling a surreal lightness creeping over her. None of it was real; like a fever dream, she'd imagined it all. Then she saw his shoulders shaking and knew it was all true.

Draco tried to pull himself together. His mudblood would get scared and confused seeing him this way. And it was too late to take any of it back. He'd made his choices and now he had to pursue them to the end. His mudblood crept closer, and then she was hugging him hard, head on his arm.

"Draco, don't cry. Whatever's the matter, we can fix it. It's all right, sweet. I'm here."

Draco buried his head in his mudblood's neck and bawled, hard choking sobs that shook them both. She kept her arms about him, rubbing his back. He remembered how it had been when he'd done the same for her, holding her, making her safe on his lap.

Still crying, he picked his pet up and carried her to the armchair, sat and pulled her against him. She snuggled tightly into his chest, talking softly about nothing, just a comforting murmur. He calmed slowly; it felt so good to hold his little girl, and he knew he wouldn't get another chance for months, maybe years.

"Time for bed, Hermione. I'm going to help you fall asleep, all right?'

He carried her to the bed and put her on her stomach. Wishing some lotion, he lifted the back of her gown and smoothed it from shoulders to knees, sighing gently. "Better?"

"Y'sir."

He crawled into the bed beside her. "Close your eyes, Hermione. I'm not leaving until my little girl is asleep." He pulled her to him and put an arm around her. "Remember that book you showed me? I bought a copy and read it."

"Really?"

"That muggle had some good ideas."

She nodded. "I've always thought so."

He reached into the drawer and pulled out the book he had got covertly via a Halfblood housemate whose muggle mother owned a bookshop ( and a pretty knut it had cost him, with the requisite Slytherin price gouging, plus hush money).

He opened the drawer on the dresser and drew it out, bound in handsome vermillion leather, embossed in gold. He rather thought it was Whitby's little joke, sending him a copy in Gryffindor colors (oh, if he only knew…). He opened the book and started to read, stopping every so often to stroke her hair or rub her back.

When he came to a paragraph break she put her head up. "Tibby." The elf appeared and bowed, still weeping a bit. "Go to my room and get the velvet box in the top drawer of my dresser, please. The password is 'Crookshanks.'."

Within thirty seconds the little elf had returned, holding the box. Hermione opened it. It was the locket. She unclasped it and fastened it around Draco's neck. Hermione closed her fist around it to warm it and then let it settled against his freezing cold skin.

"I couldn't possibly…"

"I'd feel better if you did."

"Ward it for me? Try 'nonperdo'."

She did. Hermione's eyes were damp. She looked away, blushing slightly and drying her eyes. "I'm really being very silly."

"Don't cry, Granger, please? I can't stand goodbyes. Tibby, bring Miss some Soothing Syrup."

Hermione obediently swallowed and cuddled into his chest again. He lay back, meaning to roll her on her side when he left. She had to stay asleep. Above all, she must stay asleep.

"You're safe, Hermione. As long as I'm with you, you're safe. Nothing can hurt you here."

He could think of nothing to say that would help her through the next hours or years without him. She wouldn't understand, poor little girl, that it was all for her. He tucked her in very thoroughly, wanting her to feel safe when she woke alone.

He put the book on his pillow and looked around for the last time. He'd inked a passage, knowing Granger was smart enough to look for clues in the text. She'd understand. He had faith in her, and that was all he'd have for a long, long time.

Just as she would have the vicar and medi-muggle, talking on a beach. Granger was smart, and brave, and strong—she would read it and understanding would come in dark, lonely nights with only those lines to give her comfort. It would be enough because it had to be.

Draco Malfoy squared his shoulders and walked to Snape's office and his destiny. Dumbledore had thirty eight minutes and seventeen seconds left to live.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It had been a lot of effort to make the Cabinet work again. Moving it under cover of night had been a dreadful chore as well, but in the end, it had been the only way. Snape shifted in his chair, sipping a cup of tea, and wondered why Malfoy had been so insistent that they not leave the Cabinet in the Room.

As though summoned by a thought, his godson knocked. Bidding him entry, Snape saw how white Draco was, how dark the circles under his eyes. But he looked resolute, and his hands did not shake as he took the mug Snape offered him.

"Are you ready, Draco?"

"Yes, sir."

"After you—we'll be going directly to Malfoy manor."

"What about McNair's?"

"He isn't there anymore."

The cup dropped from Draco's hand. The Dark Lord was at—that meant—oh God, his mother. Snape calmly spelled the broken cup back together. "Lucius is also there."

Draco swallowed with visible effort. "They'll be here soon?"

"Five minutes. They owled to let me know there's been a slight change of plans. His orders. Yaxley, Mallow and Sutcliff aren't coming."

"No?"

"No. He's decided to send your aunt. And Greyback."

If Draco had eaten anything, he would have thrown up. His aunt was a dangerous maniac and Greyback was…he was conscious of the fact his lip was trembling and bit down on it. "Who else?"

"Rowle, Gibbon and the Carrows."

Snape wondered whether the boy would get through the night sanity intact. "Draco, where did you put Granger?"

"She's asleep in the Room. I told her I had family business to attend to."

Snape nodded. "That's wise." If Granger interfered, not even the thought of the Dark Lord's wrath would prevent her death. And knowing she was safe would allow Draco to concentrate on the task at hand.

The door on the cabinet rattled and then flew outward, and Bellatrix Lestrange stepped out. Grinning, she walked to her nephew and put a hand on his cheek. "And here's the little hero now! And aren't his mummy and daddy just so pwoud?"

"Get your hands off me."

She slapped him. "Naughty, naughty. Little boys mustn't talk back."

Snape drew his wand. "Enough, Bellatrix. We're to fight the common enemy, not one another."

The others were coming through now, the two Carrows, the red haired Gibbon and his boon companion Rowle. Last was Greyback, stinking of blood, dressed in torn, dirty rags. He stared malevolently at Draco, nostrils flaring. Laughed, rubbing his hands coarsely.

"My nose tells me you've had a good night, young Malfoy."

Draco flushed. "I've no idea what you mean, Greyback."

"You smell like cunt."

Bellatrix cackled. "The mudblood! The mudblood!"

"I really haven't the--"

Bellatrix stopped laughing. "Oh, yes. The Dark Lord told us all about your little mudblood whore, nephew. Won't Lucius be interested to hear what you've been up to?"

Draco drew and held his wand to her throat. "If you say anything, you mad bitch, I swear I'll--"

Snape interrupted, voice strained. "He's there, Draco! Hurry!"

He ran. Albus Dumbledore had twenty minutes and fourteen seconds left to live.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He found the Headmaster looking out the window of the Astronomy Tower, back to the stairs. The old man must have heard his shoes but said nothing, just breathing. He seemed very peaceful. His arm was in a sling across his body. Draco hoped it was his wand arm.

He drew his wand and prepared to do it. His hand was shaking wildly, so hard he couldn't aim. He tried to steady himself when Dumbledore's voice rang out in the stillness. "Would you shoot an old man in the back, Mr. Malfoy?"

He nearly dropped the wand. "Wh—I—how?"

Dumbledore turned. "It wasn't hard, Draco. You weren't exactly subtle about it. Tell me, how did you plant that bomb?"

"I had a house elf do it."

He nodded. "One of yours, I suppose."

"Something like that." He tried to bring his wand into position to swish the Killing Curse. Dumbledore smiled. "You don't have to do it, you know."

"Yes, I do! He'll kill me! He'll kill her!"

"Miss Granger?"

Was there nothing the old man didn't know? "Yes. And my parents. He's at our house right now."

"What if I could hide you? Somewhere far, far away, and your parents as well?"

"I want to take Granger."

"Miss Granger would never consent to that, Draco."

"If you want your life, you'll make her. Let Potter fight his own damned battles for a change."

"Would you rather trust her to Tom Riddle's mercy? Do you honestly believe, Draco, that he will spare her simply for your sake?"

Draco lowered his wand. "I don't—I---I never wanted to do it. I just want them to be safe."

"Then put the wand down, Draco, and let me help you."

He did. Time was short—they were down to seven minutes and thirty three seconds.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione sat up. She wondered how long she'd been asleep—it felt like hours. She reached for Malfoy and her hand found leather and paper instead. She shook her head. It was the book. She wondered why he would have left it.

The sense of wrongness, of dread, was emanating from her psyche in waves. She started to get out of bed and stopped, listening. "Tibby?"

"Yes, Miss?"

"Where's Draco?"

"He is leaving, Miss. He is wanting Miss to stay here and sleep, and Tibby is making sure she is eating a good breakfast tomorrow before she is leaving. What can Tibby be getting?"

"Spell the lights up, hurry."

She opened the book , thinking there must be a note. Nothing. The place he had been reading from was blank—she suddenly wondered whether he could have left something in the book itself. Flipping slowly, she found a paragraph underlined.

"_There is no power, short of Divine Mercy, to __disclose, by type or emblem__, the secrets buried in the human heart. __The heart must hold them__, until the day when all is to be revealed, and, I conceive, the __hearts holding such secrets will yield them up, not with grief, but with Joy unutterable__*_."

Her hands were shaking for no reason. It was a family matter, that was all. He'd be back soon…a family matter… secrets…marks…Marks…secrets…Marks…

Hermione leapt to her feet and started dressing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Having immobilized Potter, Snape leveled his wand at the old man. Bellatrix and the others stood close by. "Well done, Draco. I'm so proud of you." She was speaking in a normal voice, and even lightly cupped his elbow. He shuddered; behaving like this, his aunt sounded eerily like his mother.

"Severus, please…"

Dumbledore's time had finally run out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione couldn't leave. Tibby shook her head sorrowfully. " Miss is staying here. Miss is going back to bed now. Tibby will be staying until Miss is asleep."

"Move, Tibby! He's in trouble!"

"Young Master?"

"He could be dying! Tibby, move!"

Tibby wanted to obey young Master but she couldn't bear the thought he could be hurt or killed. She stood aside and Hermione raised her wand and walked through the wall. She was very calm. Very, very calm.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Retching dryly, Draco trailed the others, crying a little. He hadn't expected the old man to loll with such hideous, boneless ease as he fell from the Tower. Snape was leading them down disused corridors and old staircases.

They were by the Room now. He hoped she was still safe in bed, dreaming that everything was still sane. He saw a flash of movement and raised his wand. Ahead of him, Greyback twitched expectantly, hands still crimsoned with Weasley's brother's life blood. Draco saw a flash of brown hair and he knew.

"What have we here?"

She boldly stood her ground. Greyback laughed. "Malfoy's slut come to see him off? How sweet."

"Draco?"

He ran to her as fast as he could, blocking her from the others with his body. "Get inside, Hermione, they'll kill you!"

"But wh--?"

"Just go!"

He pressed his mouth to hers and held it for a second's worth of eternity. He felt Greyback's huge and filthy paw on his neck, slicking it with blood as he tried to pry them apart. Draco broke the kiss and, bracing both hands on her shoulders, pushed her as hard as he could.

Tibby, waiting above them, did the rest. She grabbed Miss's shirt and tugged her through the door to the Room as Greyback lunged. He got a handful of her skirt, roared with frustration at the scrap in his hand.

Draco raised his wand. "By the shade of Brutus Malfoy, if you touch her again I. will. kill .you."

Then he turned and ran, the wolfman's feet pounding behind him, though in pursuit or simple escape he could not tell.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry found her sitting in the library, staring woodenly ahead. When he asked her to take a walk with him she mutely rose and obeyed. It had been a fine funeral, just like the Headmaster would have wanted.

They found an empty classroom and sat at the desks. "I know about you and Malfoy, Hermione."

Hermione cringed. "Do you hate me?"

"No. I confronted him and he—he made me swear to protect you."

"He did?"

"Uh-huh. He swore too. "

"Oh, Harry, how could he?" Her chin was quivering.

"He didn't want to. Dumbledore offered to hide him and his parents and Malfoy said yes."

"He did?"

"Only if you could go too."

She swallowed hard. " He said…it was family business. He had to go away but he'd come back soon."

Harry weighed the truth against Hermione's raw feelings. "Voldemort's got his parents. He was lowering his wand."

She nodded. "He loves them very much."

"What are you going to do, Hermione?"

"About what?"

"For the rest of today?"

"I have an appointment with Flitwick.' She stopped and kissed Harry's cheek. "Thank you. I feel so much better."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fillius Flitwick was a kind hearted man. When he saw Miss Granger's obvious distress, he wished to find some small means of allieviating it.

"That's a lovely bracelet, Miss Granger. Goblin made?"

"I don't know, sir. It was a gift."

" I have a bit of Goblin blood, you know. Yes, definitely Goblin made. Old, too. That technique is called soie d'or.' He checked his enthusiasm for Goblin antiques and said gently "You needed to see me?"

She shook her head. "I did, sir, but I've changed my mind."

As she left, he noticed she was gently stroking the bracelet. A thought crossed his mind but, unusually for the erudite wizard, he opted not to pursue it. The identity of the giver was Miss Granger's affair; some things are best left as unknown.

**A/N Spoiler: When Bellatrix references Hermione, it's because the Dark Lord told the people going on the raid. It's not general knowledge. **

.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Love to all reviewers**

**Special thanks to C. and T. for all the help.**

**Small rant: I am so sick of the fanon portrayl of Lucius as a puppy kicking Snidely Whiplash ( I've ranted about this before). I think it's time for a more nuanced view of things, don't you?**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**January:**

Hermione shivered. It was cold on the moors. Ron was snoring above her, hand hanging off. Harry was outside, possibly relieving himself, more probably brooding. A muted pop echoed through the little tent and Tibby proudly displayed her wares. "We is sorry, Miss, but this is all Tibby could be getting. They is watching the food most carefully these days."

Hermione smiled weakly. "Thank you, Tibby." She sat and took the loaf of bread, tin of fish and wedge of cheese from the elf. "Ron, wake up. Ron." A moment later the red head groaned sleepily and sat as well. Tibby went to fetch Harry, and soon the three of them were eating. Tibby waited on Hermione's bed, utilizing the half trance that passed for house elf slumber. After they finished, Hermione climbed back into bed while the boys listened to the radio. "How is he, Tibby?"

"We is not seeing him, miss. Tibby is sorry." Hermione nodded. "It's all right."

Tibby took up her place by Hermione's head, preparing to bully her into going to sleep just as she'd been ordered to do. Tibby had come to love Miss almost as much as the Malfoys; she was glad Miss hadn't asked whether young Master was on a raid. She pulled the covers a little tighter on Miss's shoulders and wished, for the millionth time, for the hairbrush from the Room. It wouldn't do for Miss to look tatty, after all, on the run or no.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**March**:

Draco flipped onto his back and heaved a disgusted sigh. It was no use. Rising, he dressed quickly and walked out of the dorm. He knew he wouldn't be accosted; the Carrows had made it clear they didn't care what he did so long as he was quiet about it.

Parkinson was sitting at a table in the Common Room. She had been playing solitaire, from the looks of it. A goblet of pumpkin juice sat by her hand. "Draco?"

"Evening, Parkinson."

"No, wait."

"I'm busy."

She stood. "Please, Draco?"

He stopped and looked at her pointedly, waiting for whatever idiocy she would spout. She was a good deal shorter than he was, like Granger; unlike Granger, she wouldn't simply cut to the bloody chase. And Parkinson _whined_.

"Why don't you like me anymore, Draco? You used to like me."

He cringed inside. What was it about him that encouraged girls to believe he was a person to spill one's soul to? He was too handsome for his own good, but surely that wasn't it. It had to be something else.

" I also used to wet the bed. People grow up, Parkinson."

Parkinson's face went pink. "I don't suppose Potter's mudblood friend had anything to do with it, then?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I heard Aunt Alecto telling Mother all about it. You probably only like her because she lets you do things to her."

Draco felt his temper fighting to get loose of its usual discipline. If Granger ever said such a thing…but she wouldn't. That's why he liked her and not Parkinson. He took a deep breath and then another.

"Everyone knows your mother's a drunk, Parkinson. I hardly think a conversation between a lush and her ugly, unmarriageable sister would stand up in the Wizengamot, do you?"

Now she was red. " They saw you! You threatened Greyback!"

"We all know how reliable _his_ word is. Do you have any idea what he'd do to you if he could get you alone?"

Parkinson looked on the verge of angry tears. "You swore by your ancestor on her account! Your father will disown you if he finds out!"

"Finds out from whom? You?"

"I'll tell!"

Draco laughed. "You'll try, but who's to say he'd believe you? Especially if I let it slip I saw you and that Gryffindor--what is his name---Creely? Crowsley?---the one that had such a crush on Potter, at any rate-- touching one another in the library."

"I never!"

"If you keep your mouth shut. If you don't…I wonder what your marriage prospects would be. No one wants used goods." He smirked and walked away before she could formulate a reply.

His feet took him back to where they always did, of course. He walked through the wall and into the manor, climbed the stairs. Here was the brush, hair still in, and the perfume which waited her touch. He crawled clothed into bed and snuggled into the pillow. That was better; it smelled faintly of flowers and soap, a fading touch of skin. Draco slept.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**April:**

Lucius Malfoy was always glad to see his son. He loved Draco more than anyone, and the sight of the boy's face always made him glad. Strange, the way he'd been acting. Ever since that unfortunate thing with Dumbledore…and there had been rumors. Bellatrix had hinted darkly about Draco being a blood traitor, of all the ludicrous things. Then again, darling Trixie was never sane even before Azkaban, and they'd hated each other since they were children.

Lately the boy had been strangely quiet. Morose, even. He looked too thin. Lucius had noticed a fine chain about his neck. A love token, no doubt. Lucius smiled slightly. He'd try to get the boy to open up about whatever was bothering him—a girl, certainly, likely the one who'd put her chain around his neck—and he'd reassure him. Whatever it was could be handled. He took a sip of his tea and relaxed, pleased to be home.

Then the alarm started buzzing and he leapt to his feet, wand drawn, adrenaline coursing through his veins, though he did not know that for what it was. He only knew something huge, something glorious, had been started, and he would midwife it. Lucius ran.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione couldn't see, blinded as she was by the heavy burlap sack they'd thrown over her head. She could hear well enough, and she certainly noticed when the person carrying her threw her to the ground. Footsteps, and then Lucius Malfoy's cold, hard voice.

"That will be all. My elf will pay you in the study."

Ungentle hands pulled the sack away and she was staring into the demented, beautiful face of Bellatrix Lestrange. The woman threw back her head and laughed, a high whinnying cackle, and then turned to her brother in law.

"Look, Lucius, the family is complete."

"I've no idea what you mean, Bellatrix, and I'd thank you to stop making ridiculous insinuations. Run along now and see what Narcissa is up to, won't you?"

"There's none so blind …why don't you ask miss mudblood and see what she says?"

Lucius refused to dignify her with an answer. She was obviously angling for something, though what it was he could not say. He cocked his head. "What do you want, Trixie?"

"To serve our Lord."

"I grow tired of your games. Why don't you go and attend to your husband for a change?"

She scowled. " I have as much right to be here as you do, _brother in law_."

Lucius had an idea. "The Dark Lord is only really interested in Potter, Trixie. Why don't you take Weasley into the garden and have a little fun?"

Bellatrix beamed. "Aren't we family minded these days?"

Hermione had to act. She tried to sit up and fell back, dizzy. "Mr. Malfoy?"

His face filled her vision. "Don't bother begging, Granger. Your race is run. All you can do is accept it with dignity."

Hermione's mind sent a desperate prayer to whoever was listening. Then she said softly but very clearly "Drusilla Malfoy."

Lucius' blood turned to ice in his veins. How could she—how was it possible—

Bellatrix cackled even harder. "I was right! I told you and here's proof! Draco's mudblood whore! His whore, his mudblood--"

"Stupify.' She thumped limply to the floor. Lucius seized the mudblood under the arms and hauled her to her feet 'You have one chance to tell me where you learned that name."

"He told me about her. About his sister." Lucius' normally pale face went grey. That was impossible, inconceivable. He shook her like a ragdoll. "Liar!"

"When Draco was nine, he stole your wand and tried to transfigure a teacup into a mouse. You smacked him and put him in a corner for it."

Lucius felt his knees going week. He very nearly dropped the girl. She looked scared but very controlled. And it didn't feel like she was lying. He put her on the floor again and turned to go.

"Malfoy?" He moved to block the unconscious Bellatrix with his body. Thankfully, Adelbert Nott was pushing ninety and remarkably short sighted.

"Yes, Nott?"

"The Dark Lord has decided he wishes to stay a bit at Mulciber's. His Lordship says no one is to hurt Potter and he'll be here in time."

"Of course. I'll have someone bring them to the room under the floorboards, if that pleases his Lordship."

Nott went to ask. Lucius quickly levitated his hated sister in law to a place on the divan. They'd think she was napping, that was all. The mudblood was looking at him. He turned and bent to speak right in her ear.

"Tell me something irrefutable and perhaps you'll survive this."

"There's a locket about his neck, gold and black. It was my grandmother's. There's a picture of my grandfather inside it—he's missing an eye."

Lucius Malfoy nodded and went to speak to his son.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You summoned me, Father?"

"Let me see the thing about your neck, Draco. Now."

Feeling ill, Draco obeyed. Lucius gently opened it, seeing with dull lack of surprise the one eyed muggle. He was aware as he had never been of where they were, what they were. The Mark on his arm pounded with blood, burned itself anew into his heart and soul, his mind. He'd spent a lifetime fighting the encroachment of muggledom into his world, his home, his very way of life. And now this—this—his son.

"Then it's all true. What have you done?"

Draco's knees buckled. He very nearly fainted. His father's eyes held a pain deeper than emotion, deeper than thought. He knew he could not lie, could not dissemble or hide. He took a deep breath and told the absolute truth.

"I only thought to make her pay for the way she'd treated me. And then it---it snowballed."

"Pay how?"

Draco's face went red. "I thought it might be fun to—' he shook his head. 'We swore a Wizard's Oath. I can't say.' He studied his hands.

"_Draco_."

"When I was younger I found a book…a Social History…and I …" Lucius got it. His eyes widened. At least, he consoled himself, it hadn't been lust for the boy, not in the normal sense. Sadism he understood; lust he could not have borne. That Draco chose to reveal this about himself surprised Lucius not at all; he was the boy's father and had an utter right to know. Know he would, even if it rent his flesh from his bones.

"Then what?"

"I thought she could be useful to us. She's smart, and good at things and what we did together was…such power, Father. I'd never felt the like, and I thought I could use her to spy for the Cause. The Dark Lord found out and he told me to get information."

"The Dark Lord ordered this?"

"The same night he ordered me to…you know."

He certainly did. He'd reeled with horror when he'd discovered the true nature of Draco's mission. He'd never felt so helpless, so _used_ in his life. He could only imagine what Draco must feel. And now the mudblood.

"What else did he order you to do, Draco?"

"Bind her to me. Ruin her."

"And did you, Draco?"

"Yes, Father."

Lucius swallowed hard, almost psychically sick at the idea of abusing one's body that way. He reached a hand out and touched his son's cheek gently.

"And how did it make you feel?"

"Unclean."

"You mean… with the mudblood?"

"No. I mean it felt wrong to use Hermione that way."

Lucius slammed his fist onto the desk, making the boy jump. "Do you not understand what you've done? I could kill you for this."

Draco nodded. "Yes, Father." He couldn't look at Lucius but he felt his father's great wrath, his hurt and confusion. He'd felt the same way after watching Snape kill Dumbledore. He wondered if that was what this was for Lucius, the point of no return, the journey from which one may not return.

"But, Draco, _why_?"

"He said I could have her if I succeeded at the mission…but I had to train her first."

"Train her how?"

"Teach her not to be a mudblood anymore. So I did."

"If you'd wanted something to train, I would have got you a puppy."

"She'd been so poorly taught, Father…I wanted to see what she would become."

"And what did she become?"

Draco dropped his head. "I'm not sure. Only that I liked it and that she needed me."

"Needed you?"

"Yes, Father. She doesn't cry, Granger. I have to…help her."

Lucius was beginning to understand a little. "Pain, then. Power. Control."

"At first. Later it was other things."

"Like what?"

Draco spread his hands, unsure of how to explain himself. "This whole year was a lead weight. Hermione was…wings, Father. She lightened my burden."

Lucius made himself take a drink from the goblet on his desk. " And for that reason, you had to drag your poor sister into it as well?"

"I didn't mean--"

"Did you ever stop to think what it would be like, Draco, hearing her name spoken in those circumstances, how it would feel to have my dead child used this way by a mudblood?"

Draco cringed. " No, I suppose I didn't."

Lucius sighed. "And now, I cannot permit them to harm her in this house. Could you not have defiled the family tomb ? Scattered the bones and smashed the markers? Rather you had, than this."

"They won't hurt her. She's my reward, Father. He'll give her to me."

As angry as he was, Lucius wanted to spare Draco the hideousness of the truth. Couldn't, much as he wanted to. " I overheard your aunt talking to Walden McNair earlier. She's to be given to Greyback."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ron Weasley came back to consciousness with the vague idea that he was thirsty. He rolled to his side, meaning to get up and get himself a glass of water, only to kick Harry in the arm on accident. "Oi!"

"Sorry, mate. Where are we?"

"Malfoy manor." Hermione's voice came from Ron's left. He rolled gently toward it. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, Ron. Harry, are you all right?"

"Yeah. We need to get out of here." Harry tried to sit and could not. His head very nearly smacked on the floorboards above. He was not bound; the door was warded so heavily that there had been judged no need.

Hermione patted her pockets. Nothing. They had taken everything from them when they were captured. "Tibby."

Tibby appeared. "Yes, Miss?"

"Can you get our wands?"

"No, Miss. Tibby can't be leaving to look."

"Tibby, if you don't, we'll die."

Tibby started to cry. "Tibby is not wanting Miss to die! But she can't be disobeying. If Miss is not needing food, Tibby is staying with her, no matter what."

Hermione worked her way to the door and tried it. Solid as a sheet of rock. She pounded ineffectually, desperate for help. "Tibby, find Draco. Now!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"It is madness, and I say you shall not." Lucius had no intention of allowing the boy to kill himself trying to spring Granger from the manor.

Draco pulled himself up to his full height. "I swore, Father. There is no choice."

"Surely there is some loophole, some ambiguity in the Vow… Draco, use your head and think."

" I have thought, Father. Now I'm going to take action."

Lucius used his superior stature to make his son uneasy. " I am your father."

Draco had finally had enough. He was seventeen years old, and trapped between forces he had only just begun to comprehend. His love for his father warred with his sense of being betrayed, his hurt and fear for his mudblood.

" My father? Jolly lot of good it did. I had to plan to kill a man, all by myself, and why? Because you. Fucked. Up. I never asked for any of this, I never wanted to kill him or to hurt Granger. I just wanted a little peace and a little happiness, and did I get it? Yes. With her. I ruined lives for you. Don't you get it? She was there for me and. You. Weren't."

He turned to go. Lucius reached out and spun him, meaning to slap him at the very least. Draco braced himself for a blow and shocked them both by bursting into tears. He'd never had to prepare himself to get slapped; when Father touched him, his hands were unfailingly gentle and careful and kind.

It probably saved a good many lives, that crying fit. As hurt as he was, as shocked and horrified and disgusted, Lucius' first thought on seeing his son's tear streaked face was instinctive and almost unconscious; it flashed across his cortex like a ray of light and translated itself into motion rather than reflection.

'Poor little boy' it ran, and then he'd put his arms around his child and embraced him. For his part, it was so blessedly unexpected that Draco went almost limp, helpless and afraid and hurting desperately. "Oh, Draco" said his father and sighed from his soul. "Hush, love. Father will fix it. Father is here."

It was a brief storm and when the worst of it had passed Lucius gently pushed his son toward the little love seat against the wall. "Lie down there, and Draco. Lucius. Malfoy., don'. Dare. Move."

Draco obediently lay down and shut his eyes, calmed by the familiarity of what had happened. The whole incident seemed distant and dreamlike as his body began to gently come down from the massive dose of adrenaline in his system. He'd ended up here a lot as a kid; napping in the office had been a great treat.

His father cleared his throat as he stepped through the Floo, his wife beside him. Narcissa looked calmer than Draco would have thought. She was carrying a small bag. His heart twisted at the sight of her. Hers was the first human face he remembered.

"Draco, I have explained to your mother that you have undertaken to feed the prisoners personally as a gesture of devotion to our line."

"I've packed a few things you might need. Some potions, and some warm clothes…for the prisoners."

" Mother…" There were no words. She held out her arms and he went to her, maybe for the last time. She pressed his head to her chest, just as she had when he was small. "No matter what, Draco, remember we love you."

Draco broke the embrace and turned to his father. " Father, I…thank you but…why are you helping …?"

His father embraced him as well. "It is not what I might have chosen, Draco, but if you're determined to see this thing through…" He bent to say the next part into his son's ear. " You are my son. I love you more than life itself."

Draco seized the locket about his neck. "Mother, will you take it? I can't keep it safe anymore. She warded it—nonperdo."

Lucius raised his wand and flicked it. "Commodo."

The locket flared blue and Draco tugged it over his head. Narcissa reached for it, and took it with hands that trembled only slightly. She slipped it over her own head and turned away so her son would not see the tears in her eyes.

Lucius whispered intently in his son's ear for a moment, then gently spun him toward the door, taking Draco's wand from his hand. "Go, Draco. Time is short." Clutching his bag, Draco left.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Her hands were bloody from the pounding. Ron wanted to make her stop, tell her it was hopeless but he couldn't bring himself to it. He wanted to spend their last few hours on Earth with the woman he loved and his best mate, just being together.

The damned creepy elf was still there. He still couldn't understand why an elf from Hogwarts had cleaved to Hermione so tightly, nor why it would not leave them. Suddenly the door creaked open and he heard the Ferret's nasal voice, no doubt come to gloat.

"Why am I unsurprised to hear your dulcet tones, Granger?"

Hermione pulled back. A look seemed to pass between them, one that Ron couldn't—didn't want to—parse. Then she drew her hand back and slapped him full in the face. The look on his face was almost funny.

"Glad to see you, too. Move back and be quick about it."

For some reason, Hermione did. The Ferret called for the elf and then, closing the door, explained the plan.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Severus Snape, freshly summoned from Hogwarts, stalked down the corridor alongside a sober faced Lucius Malfoy. Mallow and Tallis were guarding the door, looking sour about it. They would have rather gone on a raid than guarded the brats.

Snape elbowed Tallis aside. "What are you at, Snape?"

Snape turned his fearsome glare on the man. "The Dark Lord wants them examined, idiot."

"Young Malfoy is in there. Been in a long time, too."

Lucius pulled himself up to his full height and said coldly " As though we were not aware. Move aside, Tallis, and let us do as his Lordship commands."

Neither being overly bright, the two mouth breathers moved together, which was most convenient, really. Having taken Draco's wand, Lucius silenced the room and stupefied the confused Death Eaters with no particular emotion.

Snape pushed the door open. The four of them were huddled together. He motioned them out impatiently, wanting them to hurry. If the Dark Lord got there…

They crawled blinking into the light. After a moment they stood, and Lucius held their wands out. All but Draco's. He handed that to Potter instead.

"You, Potter, have taken my son hostage. You are making your escape, and taking him with you. Make sure they see you, because there is a good chance I shall pay with my life for this. For God's sake hurry, we have little time."

"Why should we believe you?" Weaseley, showing all the bravado of his family line and none of the brains. Lucius shot him an amused look.

"Because the alternative is watching while Greyback and his band take turns with the mudblood and then tear you both apart, and that's if you're lucky. Now, will you be sensible or not?"

"Ron, come on!"

"Hermione, you can't rea--"

"She's right, Ron. We'll explain later."

He looked ready to argue, so Draco decided to end the affair. He bent over and said as cheerfully as he could " Granger is going with me no matter what. If you want to stay here and die, it would a damned sight easier for everyone."

Weasley went white and then red. "You sodding--"

"Tuck your wands into the waistbands of your trousers and hurry, you fools." Snape motioned impatiently. All did but Potter. Potter seized Malfoy by the neck and pointed the wand at his temple. He nodded at Malfoy senior once and then they pushed forward. The corridor was dark and near deserted.

Draco perceived the whole thing as taking forever, though it must have taken only a few minutes. He was desperate to talk to Granger. He forced his eyes ahead and tried to look scared and defiant.

Hermione's skin was prickling. She perceived a foul smell and gasped a second too late. Harry spun, dragging Malfoy with him, and Ron as well. Fenrir Greyback stood behind them all, a hand clasped in Hermione's hair. He was smiling.

He dropped his head to her shoulder and cupped a breast with a hand as huge and lumpy as a paw."How you fight, mudblood. How you struggle. Is this what it's like with her, young Malfoy? I expect I'll know soon enough." His tongue, wet and hot and alien, dragged itself slowly down her neck and then he looked up again, preparing to bite her.

His mistake was focusing on Draco and Harry. He'd dismissed Ron entirely from his mind, and that was all Ron needed. Confused and terrified, he none the less did what had to be done to protect Hermione. He could never remember it later; the vital few seconds were a blur.

"Sectumsempra."

Greyback fell with a wet moan. Hermione, seizing her chance, silenced him and motioned for the others to run. Leaving the wolfman writhing, probably dying, they raced along until the heard footsteps. Then they resumed the charade.

They were coming to the inhabited parts of the manor now. Their pace picked up, the sounds drawing ever closer , hearts little engines in their chests. Draco's mouth tasted metallic and too warm; he would sick up soon, he was sure of it. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. They walked into the corridor, to what fate they did not know.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bellatrix was woken by Severus Snape. Snape helped her to her feet and handed her the wand which had fallen from her sleeve. "It's Potter, hurry! He's got Draco!"

Bellatrix tensed. She hated her nephew almost as much as his gutless, puling father, but the chance to use a few good curses, hopefully on the mudblood or the blood traitor, was not to be sneezed at. She turned and sprinted after Snape.

Snape was doing his level best to get the children out of the manor, aware he would likely die in the attempt. Bellatrix bobbed and wove in front of him, giggling slightly under her breath. She was muttering just loudly enough to be a distratction. He wondered whether he would be able to get in a few shots at her before the Dark Lord killed him. He hoped so.

There was sound coming from the parlour. The Death Eaters sped up, wands drawn and ready. The others were circled about a small group. Potter was holding Draco by the arm, wand to his temple. Draco looked admirably scared. Snape rather suspected it was not an act but wouldn't have said so; instead he stepped forth and said in his best classroom voice "Give up, Potter. It's hopeless."

"Never!" riposted the bane of Snape's life. He started leading Draco toward the Floo, still gripping him in a death hold. Weaseley and Granger followed. Lucius Malfoy caught Snape's eye for a quarter second. They both knew the stakes they were playing for. Bellatrix abruptly shrieked with laughter.

"Blood traitors! All of them, blood traitors!"

Jonas Avery looked confused. " Whatever are you on about, Bellatrix?"

She laughed harder. "My nephew has been fucking that mudblood and now he's trying to run off with her! And Snape and his father are helping!" She laughed even harder, slapping her knees and shrilling with glee.

"How dare you say such a thing about my son at a time like th--"

"Your son! You mean that filthy mudblood lover? What, Malfoy, did you want a go with the little slut too?"

Weasley leveled his wand. "Shut up, you damned loony."

Bellatrix spun, bearing her teeth like a wolf. "Or what, blood traitor?"

"Please, Aunt Trixie! Don't make them angry!"

She turned to Walden McNair. "Kill the blood traitor and the mudblood, Walden. The Dark Lord won't mind much."

"If anyone hurts them, I'll kill Malfoy."

McNair sighed and pointed his wand at Ron. "I might hit young Malfoy, Bellatrix."

Lucius Malfoy stepped forth. "If you strike . kill. You."

"Don't be absurd, Lucius. Draco would be happy to die for the Cause. Do it, McNair!"

A bolt of light shot from Snape's wand, and the mustached man thumped the ground. Bellatrix spun and cast a hex, missing by inches. Snape saw his chance. "Expelliarmus!"

"Malfoy, get us out of here!"

Draco prepared to Floo them out. The came the voice behind them, cold and amused.

"Why, Harry, fancy seeing you here."

Harry knew what had to happen, but not right not. He shoved them forward. "Malfoy, now!"

Draco could see the Dark Lord raise his wand. No time for the Floo. He grabbed Hermione's arm as fast as he could. "Tibby!" The elf appeared and grabbed Ron and Harry in her tiny hands. They vanished, the Dark Lord's howl ringing in their ears.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Love to all reviewers. Special thanks to C. for her continued help.**

**A PSA from Madea: My beloved childhood comfort object was emphatically NOT a stuffed badger called Badger. It is totally not sitting on my dresser right now. Also, Draco is insisting I mention that fact that Malfoys are never cute and do not cuddle (for real this time!).**

**The timing of these events may be off canonically, but I tried to make it work.**

**Additionally, spoiler laden A/N at the bottom.**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Looking back on it later, Draco would say he didn't know when it happened, but that was a lie. He knew because his Mark burned wildly, a huge and terrible flare of pain from deep inside, and then it was as though a lead weight had dropped from his mind and he knew.

A howl echoed through the Great Hall, a high keening shriek of agony that went on and on, endless, drilling into the skulls of those who heard it, until the multitude of pops drowned it out. He knew it was Bellatrix and that confirmed to him what his body had known from the first; the Dark Lord was dead.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione cast another hex at Alecto Carrow, ducking her counter hex. Beside her, Luna calmly blocked a jinx. When the screaming started nearly everyone, Death Eater and Dumbledore's Army alike, froze for an instant. Then the pops began, starting with Walden McNair. The last was Bellatrix, who was side along Apparated by her husband. For a moment Rudolphus caught Hermione's eye and she would have sworn he winked. Then they vanished and a cheer rose in the Hall. Hermione was exhausted—it took her almost a full minute to understand that Voldemort was dead.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco found his parents huddled together and ran to his mother. She opened her arms and he flew into them. Lucius embraced them both. He was weeping. Draco had never seen his father cry. He pressed closer to them, unable to believe they were alive.

Then he stepped back. "Mother, I have to find her! I'll be right back!"

He sprinted toward the crowd, intent on finding his mudblood.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Someone grabbed her. She spun, and they were face to face. He pulled her against himself and she let him, shaking all over, too exhausted even for thought. His arms were as strong as she remembered, and he smelled the same.

In the twenty four hours since they'd left the manor, there hadn't been a second for them to talk. Now, surrounded by people, they were alone with one another. She was so thin in his arms, all bones, and her hair was a frightful mess. Under the dirt and blood he could smell her skin, just a bit.

Everyone Draco cared about was alive, and he knew this as the miracle it was. He would leave his mudblood with his parents just long enough to find his wand, and then they would go home. She could have a bath and they'd eat, and then he would hold her for a long, long time. Everything would be sane again.

A hand seized his neck. He released his mudblood and found himself looking Weasley's older brother. The scars on his face had healed to livid criss-crossed slashes. "Come quietly, Malfoy."

"What?"

"You're under arrest."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione steeled herself. It had taken a lot of convincing on her part. Her arguments were well reasoned and well thought out, but what ultimately won her the day was the fact no one else wanted to do it. She had an idea that Harry had a hand in as well, though of course he wouldn't say; only that he'd talked to Kingsley for some time, and when they came out, the new Minister gave his reluctant approval.

Before she left, Arthur Weasley pulled her aside. He looked like—was—a man who gave good advice. Hermione and Molly had had a rather ugly run-in the day before over Hermione's choice, and Hermione braced herself for one of Arthur's gentle scoldings, which hurt so much more for their gentleness.

"Are you sure this is what you want, Hermione?"

"Yes, Mr. Weasley."

"Molly is worried, you know. It might start people talking."

Hermione smile weakly. "I know."

"If anything ever happens, we're only a firecall away. We've always cared about you, and…Ron told me what happened between you and he."

Hermione cringed a little. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I think you made the right decision. Being with someone out of pity is a mistake. Compassion is a virtue, but even virtues have their limits." Then he patted her shoulder.

"For what it's worth, Hermione, we were so sorry to hear about Dung."

She swallowed. "Thank you. So was I."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco sat up when the door swung open. They were keeping the prisoners in classrooms converted for the purpose. So far the aurors had been decent, but they wouldn't answer questions. He sighed, anticipating another stupid interrogation. They'd given him veritaserum, for Merlin's sake. What more could they want?

It was Weasley again. "You're leaving, Malfoy."

"I'm going home?"

"No. You're being released into the custody of a reliable person. The Ministry has judged you have nothing more to offer them."

He stood and straightened his clothes, wishing they hadn't taken his wand. They had been good about keeping him clean and reasonably dressed, at least. Weasley stood aside and there she was. "Hello, Malfoy."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was dark when she let them in the house. Draco had always imagined muggles would live in filthy little hovels. This wasn't; it was a small white house on a quiet country road. She opened the door with a key and motioned him inside. He stepped in, expecting the floor to be dirt and the furniture to be rude and splintery, with perhaps a little threadbare rug on the floor.

Instead, it was actually sort of comfortable, in a primitive way. There were bulky things in the kitchen, but the rest of the house was normal-ish. She showed him to a guest room. He looked around curiously and realized there were no candles.

"How does one turn on the light?"

She showed him the light switch. He flicked it, a little surprised when a lamp flared into existence. Granger, he noticed, had circles under her eyes, and she hadn't gained nearly enough of the weight back. "How have you been?"

"Tired. You?"

He smiled, a shadow of his old cocky smile. "Same as ever. How long did they have me in there?"

"Three weeks. I'm exhausted. Would it offend you if I went to bed?"

Yes, he wanted to say. I've waited a year for this night. Looking at how drawn she was, he couldn't.

"No' he said instead 'not at all. Sweet dreams."

He heard her awake late that night, but when he knocked she didn't answer.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That had been ten days before. He was used to the routine now. She rose early, paced about, wrote letters she tore up. Once a week someone from the Order Flooed in with food and anything else they needed. Draco made himself scarce at those moments, not wanting to see anyone.

When he's asked where her parents were, she had gone very still.

"I don't know."

"Don't know?"

She shook her head and said nothing, rose and carried her tea cup to the sink.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

"I already did."

Afternoons they sat silently in the postage stamp sized sitting room, listening to weird muggle music. There were muggle books on the walls and he'd read a few. They were actually all right, especially ones by a bloke called King.

"Why does your father have so many American books?"

"He likes foreign literature."

Evenings she would make them a meal and they would eat it, the only sounds the clank of steel cutlery on cheap plates. He'd tried to insist she let Tibby cook, but Tibby didn't like muggle appliances and tended to radically burn or undercook food. Not that Granger's was any better; he'd eaten thirty meals worth of dry, stringy meat, lumpy potatoes and vegetables that tasted like sport socks.

Her fingers were bandaged, too. He'd tried once to take her hands to look at them. She'd stiffened and pulled away. "Don't." For a second he thought she was going to say something else, but she'd bit her lip and looked away.

It is, as a rule, a mistake to allow Slytherins too much time without anything to fill it; plots abound. It was a very good plan, maybe a great plan. He started by talking to Tibby. Tibby loved Miss and she wanted her to feel better. The elf had given him enough for a start; now it was up to Granger to make the next move.

"Any news of my parents?"

"Your mother is with her sister Andromeda. I don't know where your father is. The manor should be cleared in a few more weeks."

"Cleared?"

"They're cataloguing everything to make sure none of it is Dark. It's taking a long time."

I'll just bet it is, he thought. Aloud he said nothing. "Thanks for telling me."

"I'll be in my room."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

An opportune moment came a few days later. Draco heard what seemed to be a very tense Firecall between Granger and someone else. He quietly walked to the top of the stairs and listened, hearing Tibby pottering in the kitchen, trying to do dishes.

"Absolutely not. You need rest and calm, not more excitement."

"But I can't bear just sitting here waiting for something to happen. There has to be something I can do."

Draco identified the speaker as Kingsley Shacklebolt. His low voice was calm, reasonable. "I know you want to help, Hermione, but running yourself ragged won't help anyone. We'll find them, I promise."

"It's not that, it's just--"

"I understand but the answer is still 'no'."

They bid one another goodbye. He heard Granger sit down on the divan, picking up a book and then setting it down again. He came down the stairs and sat beside her. Granger ignored him, seemingly lost in her own little world.

Hermione was only peripherally aware that Malfoy was there. The terrible emotions of the past few weeks were building inside her. She was depressed, traumatized by the things she had seen, and cut off from nearly everyone. She couldn't even see Harry and Ron. The Ministry had ordered them kept apart for security reasons; with some many Death Eaters still on the loose, it couldn't be risked.

And then there was Malfoy. He was the most baffling part of all this. She was hurt and confused by what had happened, and he was hardly talking. So much to say, so many questions she couldn't make herself ask. She was haunted nights by the idea that, of all his deceptions, perhaps the greatest had been feigning what he felt for her. Or had he? She put a thumb to her mouth and bit, comforted by the blood on her tongue. At least that was real.

Draco gasped. Her fingertips were puffy and raw, fresh pink skin visible under thick bands of scab. A few were open wounds, bloody and swollen. It had to be excruciating. He felt slightly sick just looking at them. Anger that she would do such a thing fought concern and sadness; she was crying out for help. Enough was enough, he decided, and so the plan was begun. He took her free hand in his and cleared his throat.

"We have a problem, Hermione."

"Sorry?"

"The way you have been behaving is unacceptable."

She flushed. "I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do. Tibby tells me a certain little girl isn't eating very much. In fact, she's been skipping meals entirely. I remember asking any number of times whether you've eaten, and you've always said yes. That makes it a lie, doesn't it, Hermione?"

"First of all, I--"

"And you aren't sleeping well either. Tibby says you're having nightmares almost every night. What are you to do you do when you have a nightmare, Hermione?"

"Malfoy, I--"

"And that fit you just threw at Shacklebolt. He's Minister of Magic now, I take it?"

"I didn't throw a fit, I just--"

"You might be able to convince Potty and the Weasel, my girl, but I know you a little better than that. Third door on the left, your room?"

"Well, yes, but--"

"Wait for me on the bed. Does your family own a spatula, perchance?"

Hermione started shaking her head. "No, Malfoy."

"What about a decent hairbrush?"

"No, I said."

"Wouldn't take that tone, little girl. You're in enough trouble as it is."

"I can't do this right now."

"If you'd like to have a nap first, that would be all right."

"No, I mean—my –my needs have changed."

"Of all the blatant lies you've ever told me, Hermione Jane, that has to be the biggest. They haven't either, and I'm not going to watch you self destruct because your pride won't let you admit you need this."

Hermione turned as much as she could. "_You_ just accused _me_ of being dishonest? I wasn't the one trying to kill someone behind your back."

His lips pressed together. "You know I didn't want to, Granger. I would never have--"

"But you did."

"He had my parents, Granger. What was I to do?"

"Ask for help."

Draco made himself count to ten. "Do you honestly think I didn't want to tell you? That it wasn't on the tip of my tongue a million times? If they had found out…You don't know what goes on, Granger. I do." He wasn't about to tell her the things he had seen. Muggles… women…children… screaming… blood…

"I understand why you did it, Malfoy, but I can't forget it. Not right now, maybe not ever. Let's just let it go for now, all right?"

"No." He crossed the room, meaning to finish this thing once and for all when there came a terrible crash from the kitchen. Tibby stood weeping, a clatter of pots and pans at her feet. "Bad elf! Tibby is bad elf! Miss is having to cook because Tibby is bad elf! Not even able to be putting pots away!"

Hermione seized her chance and pushed past Malfoy. Ordinarily he would have been proud that she'd acted so opportunistically, but not this time. He walked after her, determined to discuss this issue in greater depth, only to have her slam the door to her room on him.

"Open, Granger."

"Fuck off."

"Hermione, open the damned door!"

No answer. He tried the knob. Nothing. Inspiration struck. "Tibby."

The weepy elf appeared. "Yes, young Master?"

"You know those metal things girls put in their hair?"

"Tibby is knowing hair pins, yes, sir."

"Find me a few."

She did, and Draco knelt. He could hear no motion within the room, which he took to mean she was sulking quietly. He carefully inserted the loop of the pin in the little lock and fished for the catch. It wasn't much of a lock, just a cheap thing. He found it within thirty seconds and popped it open as easily as eating a grape.

Granger jumped up. " How dare you?"

He ignored her. Closing the door behind himself, he sat on the bed. "Come here, Hermione."

She shook her head. "Just leave me alone, Malfoy, please."

He turned to say something but before he could the spell hit him in the back. He fell back, petrified, and she walked out of her room and into the corridor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Three hours and seventeen minutes, he thought, brimming with fury. She'd left him frozen on her bed for three hours and seventeen minutes. And the idiot elf hadn't thought to come and check. Finally it had appeared and Draco had to tolerate long minutes of stupidity before the green wretch unfroze him.

As soon as he could move he'd sat up, stretched his aching limbs and resolved that Granger wouldn't sit for a year. Two years, if possible. This time he was sly about it; he sent Tibby ahead as a distraction.

Hermione looked up as Tibby popped into the room. She closed the album and said as politely as she could "Yes, Tibby?"

"Tibby is wondering when Miss is going to be eating?"

"I'm not hungry right now, Tibby, I---oh!"

Cold hands grabbed her from behind. Hermione yelped, struggling, only to find herself stood on her feet, being held tightly by the elbow.

"You never (SMACK) never(SMACK) never (SMACK) do that again (SMACKSMACKSMACK)."

She tried to turn but he wouldn't let her move even an inch. She could hear the anger in his voice and it made her nervous. There was no reason for it to, of course. He wouldn't be punishing her and that was final.

"Is there anything you'd like to say for yourself, Hermione Jane?"

She pulled at his grip but it was like iron. "No, because you aren't punishing me."

"I disagree." He sat down on the bed, which was nothing but a bare mattress. There was some kind of photograph album, and he pushed it over so nothing would happen to it. Then he pulled his mudblood over his knee and lifted her skirt in the back to pull down her knickers.

"No, I said!"

Malfoy sighed. " I won't be starting until you're calm enough to accept this, so argue as much as you'd like, but you aren't going anywhere and I won't change my mind."

Hermione made herself lay still. "Draco, be reasonable."

"'Draco' now, is it? Hmmm, someone's manners are improving already."

"Let's talk about this like adults."

He took her wand from beside them on the bed and stuck her to his lap, her legs to the mattress and then her wrists to the small of her back. "That's rather the problem, isn't it? Someone's been an adult for too long and it's making her grumpy."

"I am _not_ grumpy!"

He laughed hard. "I'm sorry, would you care to try again?"

"I'm not grumpy , I'm just annoyed and I don't think it's fair of you to--"

"Fair? It's fair of you to half kill yourself for no good reason, and then lash out at me for trying to stop you?"

"I'm not half killing myself."

"Bollocks. You don't eat, you don't sleep, and you're refusing to rest like you need to. You're also perfectly well aware that you're to wake me if you have a nightmare, not to mention the consequences of doing that to your hands. I won't have it."

"I'm fine."

"Liar."

"I am not!"

"Not on purpose, maybe."

"I can't imagine how confused you must be, Hermione. Here you've been telling me for, what, ten days or more, what you need, and I've ignored you, thinking it would get better. I blame myself for some of this."

"You need order, Granger. Routine and stability are what make you happy, and don't even try to deny it."

" That still doesn't mean--"

"You get the security of knowing that each and every time you misbehave, this is what will happen. It's comforting, isn't it, to know that I care enough to whack you for acting up?"

She pressed her face into the bed for a moment. "But I—I don't want to be smacked."

This was excellent, really excellent. Her mental state was progressing in just the right way. He patted between her shoulders blades.

"Of course you don't. But when little girls are naughty, this is what happens. You _have_ been naughty, haven't you?"

His only answer was a sniff, whether because she was trying not to cry or because she was irritated he couldn't tell. He didn't want to start until she was in the right frame of mind, but he also had no intention of waiting all night while Granger pouted.

"I said, you've been naughty, haven't you?"

We learn something new every day."You miserable--" That day, Draco learned his mudblood had a vocabulary that would make a Knockturn Alley slut blush with shame. He couldn't help it; he chuckled.

"Don't you dare laugh!"

"I'm not laughing at you, love. I'm just surprised my little girl knows all those naughty words. I think someone is doing everything she can to make sure I punish her like she needs."

"Malfoy, this is degrading."

"Hush, Hermione. You're overtired and hungry. You always get like this when you're overtired."

"Stop that, dammit!"

"It must have been so scary for my little girl, to suddenly have to take care of herself like that. It's all been too much, hasn't it? And she's very frustrated that she can't go and see her friends."

"I said stop it!"

"It's all right, dear heart, I understand. She's just a very little girl, and she's got a lot of nasty feelings that can't come out, hasn't she? Hush, I'm going to make it all better."

"Tibby."

The sobbing elf appeared, hands bandaged. "Yes, young Master?"

"Find me something to use on Miss, please."

Tibby looked away. "May Tibby be saying something?"

"Speak freely, Tibby."

"Miss is needing someone to do this, young Master. She is trying hard, but she is needing some help. If it were proper, Tibby would have been doing it herself. What should Tibby be getting?"

"Try to find a spatula, Tibby. Or else a bedroom slipper, something of that nature. Such an awfully little girl doesn't need very much to make an impression on her. "

Hermione bucked, trying to make him stop. She was so absolutely mortified that she was glad she couldn't see the elf. His icy hand slid inside her blouse and rubbed between her shoulder blades.

"It's all right, Hermione. _Would_ a tantrum help? That might help such a little girl feel better. Since she's getting smacked anyway, I don't see the harm this one time."

"Sod off! Leave me alone!"

"That's right, you just lie there and fuss as long as you need. I'm not going anywhere."

"Stop it, stop it, stop it!"

"And as soon as Tibby comes back I'll start your smacking. A good hard smacking always helps my little girl feel loads better."

As though she'd been awaiting her cue, Tibby popped into the room. She was holding a spatula, looking at it askance. "Tibby is bringing the right thing?"

"That will work wonderfully. Fix something for Miss to eat, Tibby, she'll be having her supper and bath as soon as we're done here. You can plan on bathing her every night at seven o'clock for the next week, I'll want her in bed by eight."

Tibby bowed and Disapparated. Draco set the spatula down and waited. After a moment, his pet said very quietly "Malfoy? Can't I please get down? Please?"

It's hard to say no to such a sad little voice, especially one that's on the edge of tears. Draco worked his fingers through her hair, feeling how matted it was (he'd have a strong word with both his mudblood and his elf, be assured.)

"Shhhhhh."

"Please? I really can't do this."

He stroked her hair. "You don't have to, darling. All you have to do is let me do it. Can you do that?"

"N-no."

Draco's scalp was prickling. Something was very, very wrong here. He pressed a hand on her back, letting her know he was there. She took a deep, shuddering breath. He rubbed. She'd be all right. She had to be all right. This whole year all he'd thought about was how good it would feel to hold her again. Here they were, but something was off.

"It was never a problem before."

"Things changed. Everything's changed."

She was desperate not to give in. She'd given up control once and the hurt and shock of what had happened were still burning under her skin. She would never open herself again; the scars were too new, too fresh. She would tell the Ministry she couldn't keep him, and in time the memories would fade into dream.

"This doesn't have to. I still want to be with you, Granger, and if you didn't want to be with me you wouldn't have brought me here. So why are you fighting it, little girl?"

"Because—because—how do I know it won't happen again? I can't lose anyone else, Draco, I can't!"

Draco swallowed hard, unprepared for the pain and fear in her voice. He waited a moment and slowly unstuck her a little at a time, then replaced her knickers and sat her in his lap. She didn't snuggle against him but neither did she try to get up. She simply sat and waited, hands in her lap and head down.

"You're safe, Hermione. As long as I'm with you, you're safe. Nothing can hurt you here."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it."

He cupped her chin. "If you'd rather, I could legilimize you."

"The Order sent my parents to Australia. Then the Secret Keeper vanished. He's the only one who knew where they are."

"Who was it?"

"I don't think you'd know the name."

"Try me."

"Mundungus Fletcher."

His eyes widened. "The con artist? They made him your Secret Keeper? How did you people win the war again?"

Hermione swallowed. "Even if I knew where they were, they don't know who I am anymore. I wiped their memories the night before they left. They've no idea they even have a daughter."

She let her head fall to his shoulder and he clasped the side of her head. He understood this might be the work of months, even years, and for someone as lacking patience as Draco, he didn't mind much. This was a start, a tiny pinpoint of light, but if Draco had learned anything in the crucible of the previous year, it was that sometimes a little hope is all we have.

"It won't happen again, Granger, because if it does I won't survive it. I'm a marked man. You're quite stuck with me."

She snuggled into his shoulder. "Really?"

"Mmm-hmm. And anyway, I'm not leaving my little girl again. It's not a good idea." He held her a little closer. "You know my father is the richest wizard in Britain, don't you?"

"Yes, but what--"

"That means my family has certain resources. Why don't you let me ask my father if he could find anything out?"

"Draco, your father hates me."

"He helped me take you out that night."

"You'd really do that for me?"

"Of course I would."

He held her another moment and then gently flipped her back into position. She huffed as he lowered her knickers and pinned her.

"My little girl's needed this a very long time. Now, Hermione Jane, do you remember what I told you would happen if I ever found out you'd let yourself get sick again and didn't seek treatment?"

Hermione squeaked and murmured something. "Y'sir."

"What was it?"

"Bedtime smackings."

"How many?"

"Seven. I'm not really sick, per se."

He cracked a hand onto her sit spot. " Are you suggesting letting your hands get this bad was acceptable?"

"No, sir! Owww!"

"Then someone needs a good dose of my hand, doesn't she?"

**SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT**

**SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT**

**SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT **

"PleasenomoreImsosorryillbegood"

"You certainly will, little girl, because what happens when you aren't?"

**SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT**

"OWWW! Smackmesir!"

**SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT**

"I'm going to make sure you never, never forget again by warming your arse before bed every night for the next week."

**SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT**

"I know you're a good girl at heart, Hermione, and I'm very proud of the way you acquitted yourself during the last year. But it's time for you to relax and let me take care of you again."

**SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT**

He tipped her forward, hearing her cry harder as he exposed her sit spots. He smacked both sit spots until his hand burned and Granger was howling like a toddler, trying to cover almost against her will.

"**AHOWWWWWWW!OWWWW! AIIEEEEEEEEEEEEPLEEEAASSEE**!"

"Lie still. You still have a good dose of the spatula coming, and then its supper and bed."

He picked up the spatula. She wailed. "**OHNOPLEAASEESOSORRY**!"

"Don't cover, Hermione. Just lie still and let all those nasty, hurtful feelings out."

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP **

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP **

**THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP THWAP **

She went limp and Draco dropped the spatula. He'd not given her very much, feeling like the long, very hard hand smacking had done most of the work. He let her finish crying it out, rubbing her back and talking softly, and then tugged her knickers off.

"Tibby, is Miss's food ready?"

Tibby popped into the room. "Tibby is making an egg, young Master."

"IRun Miss a bath, and set out some clean sleep clothes for after she eats."

Hermione stopped crying in time to realize Tibby was getting an excellent view of an extremely personal and embarrassing situation. She gasped and tried to tug her skirt down to cover her reddened backside, only to have Draco lean down and stop her.

"Ah ah ah, I'll do that."

"Malfoy, _please_…"

"I think Miss is embarrassed, Tibby."

Tibby beamed. "Oh no, Miss should not being embarrassed. Young Master is punishing Miss because he is caring about her. Although, Tibby is wondering why Miss's mother is not doing it."

Hermione's breath caught for a moment. Draco reached out and smoothed her hair for a second. "Miss's parents are out of the country, Tibby, and they've asked me to keep an eye on her."

"Would it not being more proper for Madam to be doing it?"

"We'll discuss this later, Tibby."

Draco picked Hermione up and toted her down the stairs. Tibby had cooked a dubious looking scrambled egg and some burned toast. Draco put his mudblood down at her place and made it clear with a look that she'd be eating everything.

Hermione obediently took up the fork and made herself swallow some of the dry, crumbly eggs and a few bites of toast. It all tasted like sand. With both Tibby and Malfoy watching, she knew she had little choice. After a few minutes the plate was clean.

"All right, time for a bath. Up we go."

Draco was enjoying having his little girl back very much. He'd dreamed about this for months and while the details were a less than perfect, the simple pleasure of being with Hermione more than made up for it.

After a quick bath, and a coat of muggle healing cream for her fingers, he carried her to her bedroom and nearly laughed out loud. Her room was exactly what he thought Granger's room would be like. The walls, what could be seen of them, were a pale yellow. Three of the four walls were covered in heavy bookshelves crammed with books—all kinds, from battered children's books to heavy leather bound wizarding books. The fourth wall held a shelf of pictures and small treasures.

He used her wand to flick the covers back and put her in the narrow little bed. It was just barely big enough for two. Draco kicked off his shoes and climbed in beside her, meaning to stay until she fell asleep.

He lay on something soft and lumpy. Reaching under his stomach, he pulled out a grayish black lump he eventually identified as some kind of little plush animal. Granger squeaked and reached out a hand. This was too good to pass up—Draco pulled it just out of her reach.

"Who's this?"

"Malfoy, give it back."

"Malfoygiveitback. That's a fine name."

Granger was pink. "Badger."

He grinned. "Looks like he's been my little girl's friend a long time."

She went an even darker color. "My Nan gave me that when I was born."

Draco tucked the ratty thing under his mudblood's arm. She squirmed and set it gently on the bedside table.

"Didn't you have one?"

"A stuffed badger? Certainly not, my girl." He put an arm around her in the tiny bed . "It was a dragon."

She laughed. "Malfoy?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry I was so—I'm very sorry."

"I know. We've started taking care of it, haven't we?"

"Do I really have to go to bed at eight o'clock for the next week?"

"My little girl needs to make up her sleep."

She sighed. "I thought you'd say that."

"Goodnight, Hermione."

"G'night."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco thought a long, long time in the dark as his mudblood slept beside him. It was clear to him now that she needed his continual care and guidance. He couldn't abandon her. Poor thing, he'd stepped in just in time. He mentally swore that as soon as they could leave again, they were going to St. Mungo's and having her looked over thoroughly.

What she really needed was Malfoy manor. The muggle house might not have been a shack, exactly, but it was hardly the same as home. She needed somewhere serene, with elves to take care of things so all she'd have to do was get better.

And Draco was still very young. Unconsciously, what he thought she really needed were his parents. Mother and Father would help her feel safe again, and of course he would be there as well. More than anything, Draco wanted everyone he cared about under the same roof so he'd never go through the hell of the last year again. Exactly how that was to be accomplished remained to be seen, but he was confident. Force of will, coupled with resources and a healthy dose of faith, might not move mountains, but Draco was sure it would do this.

**A/N: The Dark Lord is dead but plenty of Death Eaters are still hanging around and mad at both the Trio and the Malfoys. That's why they can't go out and the Trio can't get together.**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Love to reviewers, especially C. and T. Thank you for all your help, ladies.**

**This is not the end of the series. There will be a bit more, and a sequel is in the works, although because I am back at college, the updates might not be a frequent.**

**A few notes: The modern nuclear family as we know it didn't start to form until the late 19th century, and didn't reach it's final form until well into the 20th. Among nobles, there was a clear divide between public and private, and no one had anything approaching privacy as we understand it. Families were close to a degree moderns usually find creepy and strange--please keep that in mind in this and later chapters.**

**Likewise, the idea of inlaws is fairly new. Until recently, inlaws were often considered almost a replacement for one's own family, especially among royals, who often married very young.**

**Also: I've always found it cute that Draco channels Lucius when he's angry or frustrated. This much Malfoy in a confined space was terrifying, seriously.**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Lucius set down his tea cup. "You're quite serious, I take it?"  
"Yes, Father."

Narcissa took a dainty sip. "Darling, we want you to be happy, but really…the mudblood?"

"This is what's best for all of us."

Lucius cocked his head at the boy. "Draco, it's not that it's not a very good plan. It is that. The problem is the girl. Who's to say she would even be willing?"

"Why wouldn't she be, Father?"

Lucius smiled slightly. "Miss Granger has had a rather adversarial relationship with this family, your assignation notwithstanding."

Draco sipped his own tea. It was incredibly generous of the Minister to allow the Malfoys to enter the manor ahead of schedule, let alone expressly to spend time together. They had to ask before they could remove anything, or go on the second floor, but it was divine to be home all the same.

"That's the past, Father. All of it, the past."

Narcissa called an elf. The elf came and poured them all more tea. "The past."

"We can put this whole thing behind us."

Narcissa rested a fragile hand on the back of her neck for a moment. " Draco…it isn't that simple, love."

Draco picked up a biscuit and nibbled. He really wasn't hungry, but after weeks of Granger's horrible food anything was a welcome change. His parents were looking at one another thoughtfully. They hadn't outright dismissed him, at least. It was a start.

"And you really think this is the best way?"

"If we go on like we did, they'll watch us forever. No matter what we do, we'll always be under suspicion. It will be like that year you were in—like it was two years ago. Do you want to go through that again, Mother?"

"No, of course not, but Draco---the mudblood? Potter's mudblood?"

"My mudblood, Mother."

"The fact you'd choose a mudblood at all is…surely you were better taught?"

"I was taught a number of things which no longer apply, Father. I've no chance for anything, now."

"Don't be melodramatic, Draco. In a few years--"

"And whom shall I marry? Parkinson, Bulstrode?"

"Both more suitable choices than the mudblood."

"So I can choose the daughter of a drunk and a nonentity or Goyle's secret obsession?"

"Mind your tone." Lucius raised an eyebrow and slowly drank a little tea. He would tolerate much from his son, but disrespect was not one of them. Draco blushed and dropped his head. When Lucius used that tone, it meant he was on thin ice. His mudblood was familiar with that tone, and reacted exactly the same way as he had.

Inspiration in that, perhaps. "I've been working with her extensively. One would almost never know she wasn't one of us."

Narcissa frowned. "How do you mean, Draco?"

"I've been teaching her. You should have seen her before, Mother. She hardly ate or slept, and she always looked so awfully rumpled."

"And you have affected some sort of miracle?"

"Perhaps not a miracle, but she's a thousand times better. She's polite and respectful and neat."

"Again, I would be happy to find you a puppy."

Draco huffed. "It isn't funny, Father."

"I _quite _agree."

Draco made himself drink more tea. "Then you won't consider it?"

"We never said that."

He almost dropped the cup. Lucius and Narcissa shared another look. Hope fought with certainty that they would never consent.

"This whole matter is somewhat complicated by the events of that night. You commended her to our family line, did you not?"

"Yes, Father."

"You understand the implications of doing what you did? In normal circumstances, I would be obliged to make the girl's parents an offer for her based simply on that."

"Yes, Father."

"Not to mention her ruination at your…hands. What did you envision, Draco, when you coerced her into that?"

"I was ordered to. By' he made the gesture that had largely supplanted the Dark Lord's name or title, a sort of handwave that meant, in some way, to exculpate the speaker. " And I didn't coerce her."

"A respectable woman would consent to that?"

"No. She had to be encouraged, but I didn't threaten her. It just…happened."

Lucius nodded. He had assumed Draco's infatuation would run its course. The mudblood could be gently paid off and the whispers would fade. He would even find her a husband, perhaps some nice Halfblood of good family. Never let it be said Malfoys don't clean up their messes.

But this…On the other hand, Lucius had spent a lifetime as the wizarding world's Tallyrand. The boy had inherited his astute instincts, and deep in his bones Lucius thought Draco was onto something. This was a way for the Malfoys to show how deeply sorry they were, and, coupled with Potter's testimony about the roll they played in his victory…he wanted something better for his son than pariah status.

But the mudblood. No family, no tradition, no understanding of what needed to be done and why. The boy said he'd been training her…but could that be enough? Draco was right about Parkinson—Xanthippe Parkinson was a drunkard and her husband a washed out, hen pecked ghost. Bulstrode's father was high in the department of magical creatures, but they had no money, and it was understood that she and Gregory Goyle were promised.

There were others, of course. But to marry the boy to the daughter of a former Death Eater was to invite speculation, constant looks and snide remarks. Draco would never need to work, of course, but what were the Malfoys without influence? Would he consign his son to a lifetime as a country gentleman, without the power and prestige that was his birthright?

It all came back to blood. The answer here was clear; by his own admission, Draco had set this in motion years earlier. Lucius straightened. He was a clear sighted man, and he'd survived the downfall of many regimes through his willingness to change his stripes at a moment's notice.

But a mudblood? He wondered what the muggle house was like. Draco had assured them the house was very nice, clean and well appointed . Lucius still worried: were the servants treating his son with respect? Were they taking good care of both children, making sure they slept and ate correctly?

"If—_if—_Draco, we were to agree, there would be conditions."

"Yes, Father."

"She understands the traditional way of doing things, I take it?"

"Yes, Father."

"She would live here with us, liable to our authority, obedient to our rules and living in the traditional manner. Would she be able to do that?"

"I think so, Father."

"Be certain, Draco. Would she accept that Mother and I could—and would—punish her if we deemed it acceptable and appropriate?"

"If I told her to."

"And her parents? What do they say?"

His parents shared another look ( he had to learn how one did that).

"They've no idea she's been ruined?"

"No, Father." Draco explained about his mudblood's parents.

Lucius suppressed a smile. This would ease things considerably. The girl would be scared, uncertain, needing guidance and direction. His son, Lucius gathered, prided himself on providing that to her, but surely the comforting presence of parental figures…especially a mother…and she was very young…she could be molded…trained…if Draco had done half the job she said he had …gentle suggestions… loving correction…praise and approval…this could work.

"I suppose, Draco, we could try. That is, if your mother agrees?"

Narcissa sighed. "It's an excellent plan, truly. I only worry…will she be happy?"

It was the last thing anyone had expected her to say. They goggled at her as though she'd grown a second head. "Mother?"

"Not for her sake, exactly. But an unhappy bride can darken a whole house. Suppose she should pine for her parents, for their way of doing things?"

Draco blinked. "Why would she?"

"Muggles or not, surely she has some feeling for them."

He shrugged. "All women leave home someday, Mother. Her parents must have prepared her."

"Yes, but most women marry men very like themselves. When I married Father, it was like coming home."

"Wouldn't she feel the same way?"

"I understood Mother and Father Malfoy because they had the same beliefs as my own parents. They did everything the same way. That made it easy for me to adjust. Would she be able to make the transition?"

"She understands she has to obey, Mother. I've taught her all about natural order. She can even recite most of' he named the conduct book' by heart." Narcissa nodded, a little impressed despite herself.

"Then I suppose I have no objections. If the girl will agree, of course."

Lucius rose and checked his pocket watch. They had almost an hour left, plenty of time. He walked toward the study. "Draco, join me."

Draco's stomach dropped. Surely Father just wanted a word man to man. Surely. He followed him into the study and closed the doors. Father seated himself on the love seat and patted his lap.

"Come here, Draco. You know what's to happen, I expect?"

His son's look of surprise was almost comical. The boy shuffled over. "Father, I--"

"Trousers down and over my knee, or I'll do it for you."

Hands shaking, Draco complied. His father gently eased him into position, making sure the boy could kick freely. Draco had put his hands back without being told, and Lucius secured them at the small of his back, knowing his son would feel safer that way.

"Now, Draco, I think you know that your behavior of late has been unacceptable. Special circumstances aside, compromising a girl's virtue is inexcusable. Her father would have every right to challenge you to a duel or worse. And your---later activities could have led to pregnancy. "

"No, sir."

SMACK. " Draco—Lucius—Malfoy--did you just contradict me?"

"No, sir! I only meant Godfather gave us something to prevent it."

"_Snape_?"

"Yes, sir. He helped me with some of my mis—with what happened."

"Be that as it may, this lack of restraint will. Not(SMACK!) be(SMACK) Tolerated(SMACK)."

"OWWW! But He told me to!"

"Of course he did, and I'm glad you complied. Mother and I care about you, Draco. We love you. But actions have consequences, and this is yours for talking that girl into being alone with you."

"OWW! You aren't angry she's (Father, OWW!) a mudblood?"

"I'm not thrilled, certainly, but considering (SMACK SMACK SMACK) that her friendship with Potter saved your life, I'm willing to overlook it. Not to mention (SMACK SMACK SMACK) that if your plan works (SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK) and I think it shall (SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!SMACK!) she'll have redeemed her lack of family."

"But she(OWWW!) agreed to it! FATHERPLEASE!"

"No doubt. Most witches would, Draco That's why we must be more controlled than they."

SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

Draco sobbed. He'd forgotten how much Father's hand hurt. His bum was on fire! He squirmed, hating how little and helpless and out of control he felt. At the same time, he was totally safe like this. It felt good to know that Father would protect him. All he had to do was lie there and be punished and feel better.

"All right, love. Shhhh, all over. Shhhhh, mustn't let Mother hear you, you know how upset she gets. I'm here, I won't leave you. There there, Father is here." Lucius patted his son's back, relieved that he was calming down.

"Father?"

"Yes, Draco?"

"I'm s-sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Of course you are. And I am very, very proud of the way you've conducted yourself in some very trying circumstances."

"You aren't angry I couldn't- couldn't --kill—' Draco gestured.

"Good God, no. He had no business sending you to do it at all, and if your—relationship with Miss Granger got you through that, then I suppose it was all for the best."

"And you aren't angry I had to…with her?"

Lucius shook his head. "What's done is done. You devised a plan and pursued your ends with great cunning."

Draco shakily stood and slid his trousers back up. His father stood as well, and gestured to the loveseat. "Lie down. I'll wake you when it's time to go."

Draco lay down, and Lucius covered him with the throw blanket from the back of the loveseat. He snuggled into the back just as he always did. Lucius gently tugged the blanket up higher. Draco sighed.

"Father?"

"Hmm?"

Draco half rolled and opened one eye. "I don't think that was about the mudblood."

"No?"

"Hmm-mmm."

"Perhaps I simply thought you needed a firm lesson about respect and your place in things?"

"Ys'Father."

" And to let you know that if ever, ever talk to me again as you did that night, Draco Lucius Malfoy, I'll borrow Mother's hairbrush?"

"Y'sir."

"You're a smart boy."

He stroked his son's shoulder a moment. "Make sure the mudblood understands that if she steps out of line, this is what she can expect."

"Y'sir."

Lucius leant down and murmured in his son's ear. "What do you use on her, Draco?"

"Lots of things. Hand, mostly."

Then Draco realized what he'd said and flushed. Lucius laughed aloud.

"Good boy. You're very sly, but remember which is the pupil is and which is the master." He pressed his son's head back onto the loveseat. Draco grinned and put his head down. When he got up, he'd go home to his mudblood and take care of her, but for now, he was just resting, happy to know his parents still loved him. Not that he'd worried. Well, maybe a tiny bit.

The aurors came to bring them back to their places. Narcissa pressed a folded sheet of parchment into his hand. The auror waved her wand over it and shook her head. "Clean." She handed it to him. Lucius had convinced the Ministry to unlock the family vault and give them enough to cover their living expenses. The auror checked the small chamois bag and handed him that, too.

As she escorted him to the Floo, Draco heard his father turn to his mother.

"Narcissa?"

"Yes, Lucius?"

"Remind me to do something really ghastly to Severus the next time I see him."

"All right, darling."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

One moment Hermione was reading in bed, covered to her waist and enjoying a novel, and the next the door flew open. Her hand went to the bedside table, finding her wand, and then she saw it was Malfoy. Relaxing her grip, she smiled slightly.

Malfoy smiled back. He sat on the edge of her bed (she didn't notice the fleeting grimace as his arse made contact with the mattress) and reached up to take hold of her hand. He held it a second and then grasped her waist and then flipped her over his knee. Hermione yelped. "Malfoy, I didn't--"

"Hermione—Jane—Granger—what were you supposed to do?"

He wrapped an arm about her waist, brought his hand down, delighted to have an excuse to dish out a bit of what he'd so lately got.

"OWW! Nap!"

"Mmm-hmm, and did you do that?"

"No! Ouch, Malfoy, please!"

He stopped for a moment. "Tibby says you outright refused. She's really quite distressed."

Hermione sniffled. "I lay down and read. I just wasn't tired, that's all."

"Do you know what's best for yourself, little madam?"

"Sometimes I—OWWWW!" She wiggled, yelping as he swatted briskly, wanting to warm her without doing much lasting damage.

"Who knows what's best for you?"

"You do! Sir! OWW!" He stopped smacking her, convinced she'd got the point. Hermione hang over his lap, teary eyed but not crying quite yet. He gently patted her back a moment, helping her relax.

"We'll discuss it more at bedtime. Now find your corner. Pull those down, no, all the way. Nose to the wall and hands on your head." He knew how much she loathed the embarrassment of being made to stand in the corner half dressed. She was just so cute that way, he had to tease her.

"My little girl looks so sweet over there with her bottom glowing! Warms my heart, it really does."

"Malfoy! Don't m-make fun!" She squirmed, mortified beyond belief by his bright, cheery tone and taunting words. She pushed her face further into the corner and whimpered, trying not to cry. Malfoy chuckled. She knew he was lying down, hands behind his head and grinning at her.

"Now now, don't be shy. It's perfectly natural for a little girl to have to show her pink backside after she's been punished. In fact, I think someone might be doing a little time out after her smacking tonight."

Hermione groaned and closed her eyes. Shifting from foot to foot, skin blushing prettily, it was almost too much. Draco was getting hard watching the show she was putting on. He left her in the corner another minute and, using the wand she'd left on the bedside table, he summoned a bottle of lotion and called his pet back.

"Don't pull them up, just come here. I'm going to put a little lotion on your bum."

Obeying, she went over his knee. Draco hated the muggle lotions and treatments Granger's parents kept in the house. They were strange smelling and ineffective, as opposed to the salves he was used to. Still, it gave him a wonderful excuse to rub Granger's arse, and he strongly suspected the emotional affects of being taken care of balanced the uselessness of the stuff itself.

"That feel better?" She nodded. It wasn't much of a smacking, not compared to what she was used to getting, but she hated it when Malfoy teased her about her predicament. He tugged her sleep trousers up and set her on his lap.

"You're still getting smacked later, little girl. Consider that a preview."

She snuggled into him and said nothing. Even with Tibby and she's horrible cooking, Hermione was gaining weight a little at a time. In less than a week her color was coming back, and her hair was smooth and glossier than it had been in months.

Malfoy set her down and spooned her. She sighed, rolled enough to kiss his cheek. "I'm so glad you're here."

Draco swallowed. "The manor is ahead of schedule, you know. They told us it ought to be ready next week."

Hermione stilled. "Oh.' She tried to smile. 'You must be terribly excited."

"Mmm, I suppose. Be nice to be home again. Would you have any objection to my room?"

She blinked. "Sorry?"

"My childhood room. It's a little small but we could always take the bookshelves away—wait, no we couldn't—I'll talk to Mother, she's good at this sort of thing."

"Draco, what are you talking about?"

"You're coming with me, Hermione."

"I couldn't possibly."

"Well, I'm not leaving you here."

Hermione tried to sit up and was lightly pushed back down. Draco's mind was absolutely made up, and she would simply obey him. He pressed his face into her neck and kissed. She wiggled against him, very warm.

"It would never work, Draco. Your parents--"

"Now, what will you want to take?"

"Really, it's a lovely thought, but I can't just leave the house, for one. For another, the Order would never—"

Draco cupped the side of her face. "The Order has got what it wants from you, darling. I wouldn't count on them for help."

"That's not true. I mean, they do have other things to do, and it's not reasonable for me to expect them to--"

"Make even a token effort to help you after you risked your life for over a year?"

She went so still he wondered whether he had pushed too hard. He gently guided her to lie back, and lying down beside her, pressed her head to his chest. She sighed deeply, eyes closing for a moment.

"I have to watch the house. If we ever find them again, they can't come back to a--"

"When, Hermione. When we find them. And anyway, they'd never forgive me if I let you stay on by yourself. Your reputation would be ruined, for one." He didn't mention it was in tatters regardless; that was a conversation for another night.

"Moving in with your family would somehow prevent that?"

"You'd be properly chaperoned and cared for. My family has a very good reputation when it comes to strictly enforced values."

Hermione got very quiet. "I'm afraid…it might upset people."

"Upset them?"

"The Weasleys would never forgive me. Molly's angry like it is that I…well, she's unhappy about some of what I've done."

He shrugged. "Let them be. Where the hell have they been?" He stroked her hair, content that she seemed to be going where he wanted with this. She'd doubtless struggle a little at first, like she was now. But time and gently help would doubtless convince her that the right choice had been made.

"Ad you're sure they don't mind?"

"Positive. How many robes do you own?"

"Besides school robes? Three."

"Mother'll take you shopping, then. Who's your closest relative?"

"I'm not sure. My parents were both only children. Why are you asking me all this?"

He looked patient. " There are forms to be observed, Granger. Speaking of which, there are house rules I need to explain."

A strange, almost ticklish feeling was building in Hermione's stomach. She nodded slowly, pulling the covers higher on herself. Malfoy smiled slightly, clearly very pleased by his plans. Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about all this. It seemed very sudden.

"You 'll be under my parents' authority. Especially Father's, since he'd the head of the family. They have high expectations, particularly when it comes to respectful conduct. If they tell you to do something, you'd better do it promptly." She nodded, feeling ambivalent. She wanted to please Draco very much, but living with Lucius Malfoy…

"You'll address them as 'Mother and Father Malfoy'. When you greet them in the morning…" Malfoy spoke at length, explaining exactly what his parents expected. Hermione was having serious reservations, to say the least.

"And if they ask you a question, you must answer it, no matter what it is. Expect to take a lot of potions; traditional wizarding families believe in preventative medicine. Mother asks a lot of questions about people's health, some of them very personal. Don't be embarrassed or ashamed, it's just how she is."

Hermione raised her head. "I've not said yes, you know."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course you haven't."

"I might decide to stay here."

"Goyle might be elected smartest bloke in Britain but I wouldn't bet my inheritance on it."

Hermione sighed. "Draco, I appreciate the offer but I'm not sure this is the thing to do right now. We've all had a lot of changes, and maybe we should just--"

Draco put a finger to her lips. "I've explained why you can't stay here."

"What if---"

Draco plumped the pillow and pushed her onto it. "Time for a nap, dear heart. Oh, and they'll expect you to nap every day from two to four, followed by a walk in the garden when the weather permits."

Hermione huffed. "I don't need a daily nap."

"It's tradition."

Hermione refused to close her eyes, no matter how gently he was smoothing her brow. "Malfoy, I can hardly work if I have to Floo back for a nap every day."

Draco raised an eyebrow." You aren't going to work anyway."

Hermione shook her head. "I can't agree to that."

Draco sighed. Every time he thought they'd made progress… "You're a witch, Granger. It's your job to be at leisure. You'll stay home with Mother and help her run the house and the various charities the Malfoys oversee."

"Malfoy, I couldn't."

"We'll talk about it after your nap, my girl. Go on, take a nice little rest."

Hermione glowered. "I think we ought to talk about this now."

"I'm sure you do, but my little girl is getting fussy, so it's time for her nap." He pressed her head against the pillow.

"Making me nap won't resolve the problem." The idea of living with Draco's family was beyond weird, but she had a feeling that time wouldn't make it any less strange. She stubbornly sat up

"You have two choices, Granger: you can lie down right now and have a nap, or you can keep being stubborn and naughty and take a hot bum to sleep twice today instead of once."

Hermione huffed and dropped her head, endeavoring to act like he wasn't there. He spooned her, trying to get her to sleep. Hermione sniffed and wiggled toward the edge of the bed. He chuckled.

"Someone is acting a right little brat this afternoon. Perhaps a good talk with the hairbrush is in order." She lay still. He held her closer, liking the way she immediately shut her eyes and breathed deeply.

"Yes, I think that's what my little girl needs. A long, long time kicking over my knee while I blister her bottom always works wonders, doesn't it? Especially when I tip her forward and whack that tender place she sits on, she just howls and sobs so hard. Never does her any good, but she still does it, just like she tries to use her hands to block me. Doesn't work, I always give my little girl just what she needs."

Hermione tried to ignore him. She kept her eyes closed, breathing deeply just as she had taught. Malfoy snuggled even closer, dropping his voice to a low, intimate whisper. His hand slowly worked through her hair, smoothing and stroking it. Even as he enjoyed teasing and needling her, Draco wanted her to feel safe and taken care of. And to have the fit he was desperately trying to provoke—played correctly, it would go a long way in convincing her that he was right. And the cuddling after would do the rest—Granger adored being held and hugged. So did Draco, for that matter, especially when it involved an armful of sleepy, contrite mudblood.

Draco saw nothing at all wrong with manipulating his pet into giving him his way. Only he could assure that she had what she needed and since Granger couldn't do anything the easy way, they'd do it the hard way. Which was more fun, as far as he was concerned.

"I wouldn't expect any less, though. Such a little girl can't possibly hold still or be quiet, that horrible brush just burns and stings her bottom too much, doesn't it? She _has_ to wiggle and bawl and kick her legs. So then I pin her down and hold her hands so they don't get in the way, and I make sure she knows what she did, because the best way to teach my little girl a lesson is having her cry herself to sleep with a hot, sore bottom."

He'd expected her to storm and rage and have a satisfactorily naughty fit that would prove his point. He didn't expect her to get rigid in his arms, and then try to stand up. He pulled her straight back and rolled her so her head was against his chest.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm not going to lie here while you make fun of me."

"Granger, I've been making fun of you since we were eleven. How has anything changed, except now I tease you about this?"

Hermione was still tight in his arms. "Because…this is…different. It isn't fair to make fun of something I can't help."

"Can' t help what?"

"I can't help needing…that… sometimes."

"Of course you can't, any more than I can help having the urge to give you 'that'. Do you think it's wrong for me to like doing it to you?"

"N-no, but it's different."

"Because it's you and not me?"

She nodded and then blushed. "I don't mean like that, I mean…"

"You mean you're determined to work yourself up, and this is what you've decided on. All right, Granger, roll over." Having tried bat spleen, he was trying pumpkin juice.

Hermione whimpered a little as he tugged the covers down and her sleep shirt up. He put his chapped, icy hand between her shoulder blades and rubbed, murmuring.

"That's right, shhhh. I'm going to take care of you, just lie still."

Hermione calmed a little, unable to focus on anything except his hand on her skin and the cozy bed under her torso. Malfoy kept up a stream of soft, soothing babble, trying to lull her into relaxation. She let her eyes drift shut slowly.

"I'll wake you at four o'clock."

He crept out as soon as she was sleeping, making sure she was well covered. His mother had folded a sheet of parchment the old way, just as that deranged elf of Potter's had. It was addressed to the mudblood but if there was a loose corner and he caught a little peek… he spent ten minutes trying to find a loose corner, and when that failed he used the kettle to melt the wax holding the thing together.

So when the corner happened to come loose, he accidently got a peak. His mother greeted Hermione as "Dearest Madam my daughter" and contained the usual expressions of affection and excitement.

He accidently pried it the rest of the way open and read the whole thing. His mother was either much more enthused about his plan than she'd let on or a better actress than he'd ever dreamed. She closed it by informing the two of them that she and Lucius would be coming for supper the next night, accompanied by an auror who would then ward the house to prevent their leaving until someone came for them.

"Do not trouble the servants to make anything elaborate, as we are very keen to try muggle fare. Lovingly yours,

Mother and Father Malfoy."

Draco bounced in his chair with excitement. For the first time, everyone he loved would be all together. Recovering himself, he read a while and then went to wake his little girl. He was holding the letter his mother had sent Hermione.

"For a little girl who doesn't need a nap, you've been sleeping an hour. Mother sent you something."

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Read the letter twice, three times. She blinked and handed it back.

"It's a very nice letter, but she seems a little confused. I almost get the impression she thinks we're getting married."

"We are."

"_What_?"

"Look, it only makes sense. We can't stay on here, and you can't just move in, it would be inappropriate."

"Draco, I—your parents would never consent. They might be willing to let me stay a little while, but they'd never let us--"

"Oh, they've already consented. We decided at tea."

Hermione squinted. "Decided?"

Draco took her face in his hands. "You're my little girl, Hermione. I'm going to see you're being cared for the right way, and since other blokes would object to my smacking their wife, we'll have to do it like this. Besides which, tracking down every other man who so much as looks at you would be time consuming. Fun, but time consuming. Just say yes, Granger, we both know you will anyway."

"I need time to think."

"About what?"

"It's big step, Malfoy."

He kissed her. "Especially for such a little girl."

She kissed him back. "You're totally impossible."

"By the way, they're coming to supper tomorrow night. Will that be a problem?"


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Love to reviewers**

**An enormous debt of thanks and affection to Countess Black, whose help with this chapter was tremendously appreciated, so much so I've used (with her permission) several bits of things she provided me almost verbatim. I literally couldn't have done it without her.**

**It's been commented that Draco is quite unpleasant, as are his parents. I agree. Canon tells us 'Malfoys is mean in the blood' and I try to reflect that in my work. In the interests of full disclosure, they are unlikely to change in the future; likewise the nature of Draco and Hermione's interactions. **

**More History: For those of you who are appalled by Narcissa- my source for all this was Antonia Fraisier's 'Love and Louis XIV'. Noble families routinely disregarded what moderns think of as personal boundaries, to a degree that makes Narcissa look like the soul of discretion. No, seriously. Mme. de Scudery wrote her daughter a letter in which she recounted--in great and cheerful detail--her son's impotence with his latest mistress (the son was in his twenties). How many of us would tell our parents about that? And then have them tell everyone else?**

**Dedicated to T. Thank you, darlin'.**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Whatever Lucius Malfoy had expected, it was not what he and his wife found when they stepped through the Floo and into the muggle house. His son had assured them that the mudblood lived decently, which to the Malfoys tended to evoke certain mental images, none of which were met as they moved into the tiny parlour.

It was clean, at least, with bare floors and worn furniture. The walls were white washed and covered with simple paintings that looked, to him, like red blobs but which might have been poppies as drawn by a five year old. There were bookshelves, crammed with colorful muggle books and papers.

Lucius heard a slight commotion from the other end of the room and then Tibby was hurtling toward them. "Master! Madam! You is here!"

"Thank you, Tibby, for stating the obvious. Where is my son and his…"

"Here we are, Father. Mother, you look lovely." He stepped forward and gave Narcissa a hug and kiss. The mudblood was behind him, wearing a shapeless robe and looking nervous. Lucius could see Narcissa face twitch ever so slightly at the horrid robe; lessons in the art of dress were called for.

She stepped forward and allowed Narcissa to embrace her. Lucius wondered if he looked as hesitant as the girl was; he hoped not. When his wife stepped back he hugged the girl as well, surprised by how thin she was. He remembered Granger as a sturdy girl; not fat, exactly, but not thin.

She embraced him back and stepped away, flushing a little bit. Tibby was nattering happily, delighted to have her family together. Tibby had wanted it even longer than Draco, and she couldn't have felt better about the night. Now Madam could guide Miss, and everything would be wonderful and she, Tibby, would help them both.

Narcissa felt a wave of pity for the little thing her son insisted on marrying. She looked as tatty and down at the heels as Narcissa had anticipated. Her hair wasn't even styled; she had just pushed it into a lackluster knot at the back of her head. At least, Narcissa told herself bravely, she had nice posture. And she wasn't ugly. She was one of those scrubbed girls with masses of clean hair. Narcissa could work with that.

"Why don't we let the gentlemen talk down here, Hermione, while you show me your rooms." Hermione knew an order when she heard one and walked toward the stairs, Narcissa following after. Lucius and Draco sat down on the shoddy little divan and its matching chair. Lucius eyed his son a long time, noting how thin the boy looked.

"Well, Draco, this is certainly a bit more…rustic than I might have thought, given your description."

Draco wriggled a little. "Yes, Father."

"I take it this is the whole house."

"No, Father. There's another floor, and a garden in the back."

He nodded. "And you've explained everything to her?"

"Mostly. I thought it best to save certain things for later…it was all rather a lot for her."

"I imagine it was. Where did you say her parents are again, Australia?"

"As far as she knows. I can't believe they used Fletcher."

Lucius shook his head. "Indeed. Sometimes I wonder how they ever…" He trailed off and looked significantly toward the Floo. Draco nodded. Tibby appeared with two glasses on a tray. She handed them each one and DisApparated with a 'pop' probably to find the women. Lucius took a sip and almost gagged.

"What is this?"

Draco looked away. "Barley water, apparently. Hermione's parents don't keep alcohol in the house."

Lucius nodded sourly. 'And to think the muggle-lovers won the war."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione wasn't faring much better. She could see where Draco got his nosiness, at least. Narcissa had looked around her room, nodded politely, and started asking questions. "Darling, where did your nurse live?"

"I never had one."

"Then you had a governess?"

"No. I went to care when Mum and Dad were at work."

Narcissa pretended to understand. "Draco tells us your parents are some sort of medi-muggles?"

"Dentists, yes. They work on people's teeth."

"Oh. Where is your wardrobe?"

"My clothes? In the dresser."

Without hesitation, Narcissa opened the drawers and began to poke around, drawing up a mental inventory of what the girl would need. Hermione felt both embarrassed and amused; she hated having her things gone through, but it was funny how like his mother Malfoy really was.

Nothing here was even remotely suitable, Narcissa decided with distaste. She closed the drawers with a thump. Hermione was looking decided uncomfortable, which, on the whole, was a good thing. The faster she got used to submitting to Narcissa and Lucius, the better, and part of that was learning to suppress her discomfort and trust them to do what was right.

She held up a …thing…made of blue, stretchy fabric. "What is this?"

"A bathing suit."

"Bathing suit?"

"For swimming. We used to swim at the civic center."

Narcissa couldn't conceal her shock. "You mean in public? Where men could see?" She held the bedpost a moment, trying not to faint. Hermione looked away, nodding.

" It's probably too small now anyway."

Narcissa quickly put it aside. She picked up a pair of trousers made of some dark, heavy fabric. It felt very scratchy to her, not to mention being totally inappropriate for a girl. "You wore these?"

"During the winter."

"They feel so awfully rough, darling. Surely you shouldn't have something so coarse against your skin."

"Now where are the rest?"

"The rest of what?"

"Your clothes, love. Surely there's more than this?"

Hermione shook her head. "Only a few winter things, but they're in my trunk, and it's only my coat and hat."

"I see.' Narcissa wondered what kind of abject poverty the muggles lived in, that Hermione had only a few of everything. Looking around the room, she reflected for a moment on the books that lined the walls; who'd fill a girl's room with books? Her own childhood room had been full of dolls and pretty pictures, not dreary old tomes. Poor little thing, she'd had no choice but to become a bluestocking, really.

She seized the hairbrush from the dresser and sat on the bed. "Come here, Hermione." The girl looked nervous; maybe Lucius was right and Draco had been keeping her in line. On the one hand, Narcissa couldn't agree to anything that would lead to potential impropriety. On the other, judging from this little hovel and her parents' strange priorities, the child probably did need a firm hand.

Which Narcissa was more than happy to give. She'd always wanted a daughter, and the girl would give her something to focus her energies on. She motioned impatiently and Hermione, swallowing hard, moved to obey. "Sit right there and we'll see if we can't do something about your hair, precious, all right?"

Hermione relaxed. For a moment she'd thought…damn Malfoy and his obsession with that hairbrush. Behind her she could feel Narcissa moving about, sliding the pins from her hair and moving the heavy mass in her hands.

"You know, darling, it's very important that when Father Malfoy or myself give you an order, you obey promptly. Draco's explained, I'm sure?"

"Yes, Madam."

Narcissa rested a cool hand on her shoulder. "Yes, Mother."

Every instinct in Hermione's body told her to rebel. She thought of her own mother and then made herself remember about cultural differences and being sensitive and so on. "Yes, Mother." But really, none of it helped; Hermione felt she'd failed, quite how she couldn't say.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was a strange dinner, to say the least. Hermione had decided to treat the Malfoys to her cooking, which meant one of her lovingly home burned meals. It is, counter to all logic, wholly possible to ruin something as simple as spaghetti bol.

So the noodles were both too crunchy and stuck together, and the sauce had a most peculiar scorched taste. The vegetables were all right, if slightly too salty. Both Lucius and Narcissa came to the conclusion that the reason the children were so thin was that muggle food was unpalatable.

Still, they did their best. Tibby served, beaming all the while, and everyone endeavored to clear their plates. Narcissa's journey into the bowels of the muggle house had left her with more questions than answers, and she indulged her curiosity, safe in the knowledge that nothing was off limits within the family.

"Darling, Draco tells us your parents never had any other children. Why is that?"

Hermione swallowed and looked awkward. "I don't know."

"It wasn't some kind of problem, I hope. You've never had any problems like that ? With your cycle?"

Draco choked. "Mother, please!"

"This pertains to all of us, Draco. If she's having problems, we'll need to get them treated."

Lucius tried his best. "Perhaps he's right, dearest, and we ought to wait until we aren't eating?"

"Honestly, Lucius, we're all family."

Lucius could tell when he'd been overruled and decided not to think about what he was hearing. His son was looking a little green. Well, perhaps this would be instructive to the boy—in what he wasn't sure but it would be a lesson in something.

"No, no problems." Hermione stared at her plate, red to the ears. Her hand was tightening almost convulsively on her fork and knife and her face was burning. Normally Draco liked seeing his pet this way, liked making her this way, but now he felt a little bad. On the other hand, it _was_ Mother. This was simply what Mother did.

"You'd tell if there was a problem, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, Mother." Narcissa nodded, pleased. She'd ask again later, of course, but she had a sense this was probably the truth. Hermione looked well enough, besides being too thin, and she'd fatten up on decent food. Lucius was studying his carrots with something like great interest, and Draco was doing much the same.

"I notice your hands are quite scarred, my dear. What happened?"

Hermione went white, and Draco picked his head up and smirked. Oh, this would be fun to watch. Hermione squirmed, and where this might have convinced a person less doughty to back off, it encouraged Narcissa to dig a little deeper. It was for the girl's own good, and she had to learn to obey.

"It's a nervous habit."

Lucius and Narcissa shared a look. 'Hold out your hands for Father to see." Hermione obeyed, and Lucius took a moment to study the scabbed and reddened digits. He frowned, gently holding her hand in his for a second. He let go and she immediately put it back in her lap, violently pink.

"I'm very surprised, Hermione, that this was never remarked upon. Surely your parents discussed the issue with you, not to mention Minvera McGonagall and whomever else."

"Hermione and I have… _discussed_… the issue in some depth, haven't we?"

Hermione got even redder and nodded, wishing the floor would swallow her. She felt deeply angry at Draco for this; his parents she could understand, but he knew how personal this was. She didn't trust herself even to look at him, she was so angry.

Lucius frowned. Whatever went on between his son and the mudblood was their business( at least to a degree), but Draco would need to learn to control his appetites a bit better than this, if nothing else because supper shouldn't end with tears, which was where he assumed this was going. Perhaps a course of aversion therapy was called for?

"I presume Draco has explained how we deal with problems of that nature?"

Hermione ate a little pasta. "He's mentioned it once or twice."

"We take a very traditional approach. No different than your own parents, I'm sure."

"Actually, my parents didn't believe in that."

Narcissa almost dropped her glass. "Your parents never…?"

"No. They generally just talked about it with me and then we'd find a way to resolve the problem."

The Malfoys, all three of them, looked at one another, Draco shrugging to express that fact that, he, certainly, thought it was madness. Lucius shook his head, thinking this explained everything. Narcissa took a delicate sip of whatever muggle drink she'd been served and told herself that the girl was just too shy to announce such a thing at dinner.

"Well, we certainly had to with Draco. You'd never met a naughtier child! I remember, he used to get very upset when I wanted Tibby to trim his nails. Screamed and yelled, his father would have to come and hold him on his lap. Do you recall, Lucius?" Narcissa smiled, never happier than when she was talking about her darling baby. Lucius smirked at his son and took up the story, feeling the boy could use a little humility.

"I certainly do. He also hated having his hair washed, didn't he?"

"Oh my, yes. Though that was only a problem once or twice. You dealt with it quite sternly and after that it was fine." Draco was so pink he was almost glowing, trying to pretend this wasn't happening. Well, not happening to him. It was fine when it was Granger.

"So you see, we all have to answer to someone. Don't we?"

Draco stared intently at his food. "Yes, sir."

"And understand that certain behaviors have consequences that might seem a bit unreasonable at first, but, really, are the best thing for everyone. Wouldn't you say, Draco?"

"Yes, sir."

As Lucius watched the mudblood got it. Her eyes lit up, briefly but clearly, and she made a noise that might have been a smothered laugh. There, that ought to take the boy down a peg. Narcissa, meanwhile, was making a list of all the things that would have to be done.

"Darling, remind me to have Lemmy oil her hair, it's very dry. And I'll have to find my old posture board, because she slouches dreadfully when she—Hermione, love, don't hold your fork this way, it's inelegant. Do you suppose murtlap essence would help with those scars on her fingertips—sit up straight, there's the good girl—and we'll have to have Tibby put that salve on her, the same one we used to get Draco to stop sucking his thumb."

Hermione heard only what was directed to her. The rest was sotto voce, and she found herself frustrated and annoyed. She tried to catch Malfoy's eye but he was looking everywhere but at her. Draco himself was writhing inside, but he'd got the message loud and clear.

"More carrots, Draco?"

"No, thank you, Hermione." Draco just wanted the meal to end so he could slip off by himself for a few moments to regain his composure. Hermione tilted her head ever so slightly, smiling, and then stood to clear the table.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm clearing the table, Mad—Mother."

" Tibby will do that. Sit down, Hermione."

Hermione sat, blushing. She really didn't want to lose any more dishes to Tibby's well meant if fumbling hands, but she also knew not to disobey. Tibby appeared, still grinning, and took the plates away, dropping only two in the attempt.

"Will you show me the rest of the house, Draco?"

Draco swallowed hard. "Yes, Father, of course."

They rose and walked up the stairs. Narcissa motioned for Hermione to go into the parlour and followed behind her. Sitting on the couch, she leant forward and gently cupped her knee. Narcissa made her voice soft and gentle, remembering how she'd calmed Draco after a nightmare when he was small.

"Darling, I can't imagine how you must feel without your parents here to guide you. Father and I want to fill that void as much as we can. So let me explain this to you. You live with us now, and we have elves that do things for us.'

"I certainly appreciate that but---"

Narcissa held up a hand. "We care about you, and we understand your needs. You've never been taken care of the way you ought to have been, and it must seem awfully strange to you to be surrounded by people who are willing to show you how much they love you."

Hermione was shocked into silence. The woman was straight faced, apparently serious, and her voice was low and gentle. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, to explain that she'd had exemplary care from her parents, but Narcissa shook her head and patted her leg.

"And part of that, Hermione, is accepting that we know your limitations. You're much too sensitive and delicate to do anything as tedious as dishes, precious. You'll ruin your hands. And Draco tells us you're very resistant to the idea of taking a nap every day. Is that true?"

"Well, yes, but I haven't needed a daily nap in --"

"You see, that's what I mean. It isn't your fault that you don't know any better, darling, we understand that but it isn't for you to decide you don't need a nap. Draco's indicated that you get quite short with him in the afternoons. I doubt he tolerates it much better than we will, and that can't be pleasant for someone who's never been exposed to those sorts of consequences."

Hermione felt the blood rushing to her face. She was too mortified to speak, too mortified to look Narcissa in the eye. It was all she could do not to lose her temper entirely; her self control was hanging by a thread.

Narcissa took a hand in hers and flipped it, studying the back. "I can't believe your parents would let you hurt yourself this way. They didn't know how to react to a magical child. We understand it's not your fault. It's not even really their fault, deep down. But now you're with people who do know, so you'll have to make some very hard adjustments." Narcissa reached out to stroke Hermione's hair gently. "All right, darling, I want you to lie down now, you need to rest since you wouldn't nap this afternoon. There's the good girl, just lie down and close your eyes."

A moment later the footsteps on the stairs announced that the men had come back down. From the look on both their faces, they had had a good talk. The Floo flared green, and Dawlish stepped through, smacking his head on the mantle. "Are you ready?"

"We are." Draco hugged his mother and gravely shook his father's hand. Narcissa stopped just long enough to give Hermione a final caress on the forehead and then allowed her husband to hand her through the Floo.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione woke to find Malfoy sitting across from her, idly paging through an old magazine of her mother's. "Why do muggle women never wear clothes?" He sighed, a little regretfully and put it down.

"Most of them do."

"Not according to this." He knelt by her head and ran his fingers through her hair. His mother had brushed it smooth and had Tibby style it decently. She really looked very pretty, especially given that the color was back in her cheeks.

"What was it your mother was saying about me during supper, Draco?"

Draco was torn. He was pleased by the way things had gone, more or less. His parents didn't hate Hermione, at least at any level other than principal. He even thought his mother was anticipating a challenge, which would be good for her.

On the other hand, it irked him that Father had chosen to make his feelings known at the moment he did. Draco felt quite annoyed, actually, and since he couldn't take it out on Father, he'd simply have to vent his spleen on his mudblood.

"Oh, nothing." He smirked and idly paged the magazine again, knowing she would take the bait. Hermione sat up and unclasped her robes, letting the whole shapeless mess fall on the divan with a thud. Her eyes had narrowed and her cheeks were pink. Draco was delighted; she was playing right into his hands.

"Draco."

"Hermione."

"Come on."

"No. You'll simply have to wait."

Hermione kicked off her shoes and shook the wrinkles from her skirt. Draco ignored her, wanting to see what she'd do.

He stretched lazily. "Now now, my darling, you mustn't work yourself up. When you need to know I'll tell you."

"_Malfoy_."

"Mother was right to have you lie down, you're quite a grumpy little girl."

Hermione took a deep breath. "I don't like being talked about behind my back, Malfoy."

Draco raised an eyebrow. " We were hardly speaking behind your back. You were right there."

"And you as good as told them you smack me. That's private, Draco. I don't tell tales out of school about your activities."

"You couldn't anyway. I don't hide things from my parents, unlike certain people I could name. And I needed to let them know you'd been dealt with appropriately for doing that to yourself."

" It's no one's business by yours and mine." The longer the conversation went on, the angrier Hermione was getting. She took a deep breath and counted to ten. She'd go upstairs and go to bed, that was all, and in the morning, when she'd calmed down, she'd talk this over sensibly.

"Oh yes, it is. Your life is as much an open book to them as it to me, maybe more so when it comes to Mother. You'll need to give up this ridiculous muggle notion that you have the right to keep things from people. We've talked about that at some length, haven't we?"

She ignored the insinuation. "Draco, please, just tell me."

"Since you must know, Mother is very worried about your hands."

"I don't understand why everyone is making such a fuss over this, it's just a few scabs." She started to stand, only to be stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

"_Just_ a few scabs? Granger, you look like you've been chewed on by a rabid selkie. They're both appalled it was allowed to get this bad.' And didn't I get an earful from Father about it, he thought. She took a careful step back.

"I appreciate their concern, Malfoy, but this issue is not up for public debate."

Draco slowly nodded. "I quite agree. Mother and Father will decide a course of action and you will obey it."

"That's not what I meant. I meant--"

"No, I understood. What you don't seem to understand is that you're marrying a Malfoy. You need to look and act it." That hurt a little. She understood that his culture and family were very different, but…

"I'm going upstairs. Goodnight, Malfoy."

"No, you aren't."

"I said goodnight, Malfoy." She spun to go and he followed her, pointedly putting his foot in the door to keep her from closing it. She decided simply to pretend he wasn't there, and so gathered her nightclothes and went to the bathroom to run herself a bath.

"I'd lose the attitude, little girl. Otherwise I might start thinking I need to adjust it for you."

She didn't answer, too busy pulling the pins from her hair. He stood behind her and gently tilted her head forward, meaning to help; she was still his little girl, even when she was misbehaving. She actually had the temerity to try to slap his hand away.

Draco clenched his jaw. Honestly, what a brat Granger was acting these days! The sooner they married the better, so they could move to the manor and he could reassert control properly. The muggle house was basically adequate, but it gave Granger ideas he'd spent the best part of two years assiduously smacking out of her.

"I mean it, Granger. I'd start being a good girl, because if you think my parents will hesitate to correct this defiance, you're sorely mistaken."

"You would know."

Draco went rigid. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your father would agree with me, I think."

Draco made himself step back. "My father has an even lower tolerance for this kind of muggle behavior than I do, Granger. I'd think long and hard about that, because I don't want to hear it when you end up knickers down over his lap getting the whacking of your life. You think you hate my punishments? His hurt for _days_."

Granger's face went white. There, he'd hit a nerve. She'd fall in line, he'd scold her and it would be fine. "Turn around so I can finish unpinning you. You're having your bath and going straight to bed."

"I'd like you to step out." Hermione couldn't make herself look at him. She could tell he was getting angry and didn't much care; she cared about him and tried hard to be sensitive to his beliefs, and it was time he repaid the courtesy.

"No." He sat down on the little chair next to the tub and crossed his arms. "You're getting altogether too big for your boots, little girl, and I won't have it."

Hermione pulled herself to her full height. "I wish to bathe in privacy tonight, because I am feeling too upset to continue with this. Respect that and step out, please."

He didn't move. "Respect, Granger? That's something you've given all too of little lately, so far as I'm concerned. You seem to be under the impression that you can disregard the rules whenever you like and there'll be no consequences."

"What rules? We never agreed--"

"We never had to. You know what you are and are not allowed to do. How long have I been mentioning your hands? Two years?"

"Yes, but--"

"More generally, have you never noticed that every really severe punishment you've ever been given has related to your propensity to self-harm? You consistently refuse to do what's best for yourself and I have to step in."

"We're both upset. Why don't we talk this over tomorrow?"

Draco responded by reaching out and calmly undoing the top fastener of Hermione's jumper. Hermione tried to step back but he caught her arm and said very, very calmly "Stand still and be quiet, Hermione. Your behavior lately has been ghastly, and I—will—not—tolerate-- that kind of willfulness. I'm sorry you're unhappy and we'll talk about it, but right now someone needs a reminder of her place in things."

"Listen, Malfoy, you might buy into all of that about place, but that doesn't mean I have to. I refuse to believe that I have to give my whole life over to other people simply because--"

Draco ignored her. He unbuttoned the cardigan and went to work on her blouse.

"Malfoy, I don't want you--"

"I mean it, Granger. You—do—not—hurt—yourself. Your refusal to let my parents help you, and your stubbornness and muggle thinking, are harming you. So I'm taking control of the situation. Now put your arms up and let me finish undressing you so Tibby can give you your bath."

" I said no." She turned to walk away and Draco, sighing disgustedly, used his longer legs to overtake her. Putting her over his shoulder, he carried her struggling into the bedroom and set her on the bed.

"What a fussy little girl I have tonight! What's wrong, precious, are you overtired?" He held her lightly in place, ignoring her outraged protests.

Hermione resolved to lie very still and do nothing. Whenever Malfoy got that bright, nursery tone in his voice, it meant trouble. In a weird way, she'd liked it better when he was snapping orders at her; now, it was hard to endure him this way. He smoothed her hair and unlaced her shoes, tucking them under the bed.

"When little girls get this way, it's right to sleep. I'll give you a nice warm bath tomorrow, but for right now, let's put you in your sleep clothes. Here we are, just lie still and relax. That's right, like that."

"You don't have to do this, Malfoy. Why don't you let me up and we'll--"

Draco put a hand on her leg. "I am very, very frustrated with your behavior lately, Granger. We're going to address the problem tomorrow, but for right now the best thing you can do is lie still and let me do this, because I am struggling to hold my temper. Do you understand?"

She nodded. "Yes, I understand." Hermione blinked tears; she felt scared like she had that night when they'd fought over the Slug Club party. His hands were gentle as he sat her up, eased her clothing off and helped her into a nightgown. She couldn't look at him.

Draco's mudblood was too quiet. He often found himself pondering the essential weirdness of wanting to listen to Granger talk. As long as she was lecturing, or scolding, or laughing, she was fine. Silence in Granger meant something was the matter, especially this fragile, hurt seeming silence. He kicked off his shoes and lie beside her as he always did before they slept.

"There's my good little girl. She cooperated beautifully, didn't she? All right, lie down now. That's right, close your eyes." Hermione obeyed, feeling hurt and unsure and terribly vulnerable. Malfoy put an arm around her and curled into her, making that soft noise that was meant to calm her. Tonight it just made her uneasy, as though none of the angles in her room quite met and the sky had gone a faint greenish when she wasn't looking.

Hermione had discovered one of the painful, confusing aspects of relationships, one that causes many people in much less trying circumstances to throw up their hands and weep; the person who'd hurt her was the one she was accustomed to seeking comfort from. What should she do? She could not turn to him and ask to be held any more than she could walk away from him. A tear trickled down her cheek and soaked the pillow slip. Beside her, Malfoy pulled the covers to her chin and used her wand to spell off the light. He rose and tiptoed from the room, gently closing the door behind himself. She could hear the shower running. Knowing she could now, she wept into her pillow in endless seeming confusion.

After he'd showered Draco came in to check on her. She really was the most trying creature, especially when it came to her muggle ideas about things. She was lying on her side, hands under her chin. He'd decided to sleep in the guest room; she needed some time to think about what he'd said.

Draco was very, very proud of himself that he hadn't lost his temper with her tonight. Father had given him a short, stern lecture about the need for self control, especially where Hermione was concerned. Perhaps he might have gone a little easier on her, but…overall, everything was fine.

He used her wand to put a ward on the bed so he'd hear if she moved around. Draco felt a little sorry not to be sleeping in the bed with her; but his little girl had to learn that her bad behavior had consequences. Still…he took her ratty stuffed animal from the shelf and tucked it under her arm. There, now she'd feel a bit better. And Tibby would be there if she needed anything. Tibby could suspend the ward if Hermione needed to get up.

"Good night, my darling." He gave her a final look and crept out. She hadn't woken alone in weeks…but she was his little girl, and he'd do anything in the world to see she had what she needed. Even if it made them both miserable in the process.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Love to reviewers**

**An enormous debt of gratitude and affection to Countess Black, without whom I could not have done it. She got the ball rolling again when my plot bunny, sulking about the implied impotence in chapter twenty one, was faking sick. T., hon, you're a lifesaver.**

**Weird but True: Rode the streetcar to Walgreens yesterday. There was a tourist lady in front of me, very blonde and pretty. She wanted to find a certain resturant and I stopped to point it out. She sort of nodded indifferently and thanked me, and I thought 'Gee, Princess, you're welcome.' Then I saw her son. Tall and platinum blond, sneering at everything. Long faced, with light eyes, standing beside her impatiently, sighing and arms crossed, complaining about waiting in line. Needless to say, he looked just like I imagine D. would, and with the snooty blonde mother...  
I took it as a sign from the Muse :)**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Draco had finally had enough after lunch. He'd tolerated her morose silence all morning, not to mention the fact Tibby said it thought she'd been crying in the night. Draco stirred his tea and said nothing when the elf mentioned it, but it had got his brain started.

Why had Granger been crying? Had she had a nightmare? Woken up afraid and alone, not knowing where he was? He hadn't told her he wasn't sleeping with her, meaning to avoid what he was sure would be a weepy scene. And he'd made sure to stay with her until she slept, wanting her to understand he still cared, even though she'd been atrocious.

Granger herself was…quiet. Once upon a time, he'd like quiet, sullen Granger best. Now she was Hermione, and he wanted her full of noise and mischief again. She was pleasant and polite but distant, and she spent most of the morning in her room. He thought about going up and talking to her, but that would give her the idea that her bad attitude was somehow his fault.

Could it be guilt? Draco himself had disgust for such an unproductive, inferior emotion, but it could very useful in manipulating the little people. Granger couldn't deal with her guilt on her own, he'd long since noticed; she had to be punished to drain the feelings, like lancing a carbuncle. That was it, surely—his mudblood felt just terrible about how she'd behaved, but she couldn't find a way to tell him. Poor thing, she really was just a grown up little girl sometimes. He shook his head, sighing deeply.

Well, she had until lunch. After lunch, he'd deal with the problem if she hadn't calmed down. Tibby had valiantly tried to make sandwiches out of cold meat and strange tasting cheese, but even that was beyond the stalwart little elf's abilities. They ate their greasy, inorganic tasting food in silence. Draco tried twice to start a conversation but Granger gave one syllable answers. The third time he made up his mind.

As soon as she'd put her napkin down, he took her wrist and tugged her to her feet. Seizing an ear, he'd led her to the nearest corner and stuck her in, literally, using the wand he'd taken from the table. Granger stopped protesting and seemed to draw in on herself, closing him out somehow.

This wouldn't do a bit. Usually when Granger needed to be punished, she got worse and worse until he was virtually compelled to step in and correct her. They were both used to it; it was sort of comforting. This was eerie. He actually wished she'd have a tantrum, just to reassure him that she was basically fine, or at least not fine in a way he could fix. If there was one thing Draco loathed, it was being unable to resolve a problem.

"Are you going to be a big girl and tell me why you're…whatever you call this?"

"I don't know what you mean." Hermione stared at the walls, allowing herself to sink into that calm white place. She didn't like it—it felt cold and lonely, not comforting and warm like it did when things were normal. But when a person had nothing else, and everything was upside down, what else could be done?

Draco felt anger slowly heating his blood. What was the matter with her? Was it just that traumatic for her, or she was trying to punish him with her silence? It was too bad Granger was upset, but he wouldn't have her trying to control him this way. She knew her place and was simply being an incorrigible brat, that was all. He remembered their conversation of the night before and though nothing of it-- he'd behaved admirably, and her need to cling to her muggle habits was something she'd simply have to get over.

Then he understood and chuckled at himself a little. Poor little girl—she must be awfully confused, and his behavior, well intentioned as it was, had done nothing to help. He put a hand to her neck and rubbed for a moment.

"All right, my darling, I understand perfectly. Let's take care of this right now, shall we?" He released her and she actually smiled, the very first he'd seen all day. He smiled back and even kissed her forehead. Then he locked a hand about her wrist and dragged her to the couch. Within a moment she was over his knee, skirt pulled well up in back and knickers at half mast.

"Malfoy, no! Don't! Stop it right now!" She tried to squirm off his lap but his hands were holding her too well, and she was small and not heavy. Draco pinned her with his legs and gave her a few sharp swats before he answered.

"I know, precious, you hate being punished. I shouldn't have made my little girl wait for her smacking. She was telling me last night she needed to be punished but I ignored her. I ought to have learned my lesson last time, wouldn't you say? And then she woke up all by herself, and she'd had a scary dream as well, hadn't she? Poor little girl, all alone and a scary dream. Shhhh, just lie still, Hermione. I'm here." He swatted her continually as he talked, hard but not brutally so. She'd really needed this, and he wanted very much to make her feel better.

Hermione was angrier than she'd been in ages. She twisted, trying to get off his lap so she could give him a piece of her mind fit to choke a hippogriff on. She put her hands back until he huffed and slapped her thighs, one apiece, and held her hands for her.

"Damn it, stop! It's not fair for you to--"

Draco tilted his leg up and whacked her sit spots. "Hermione Jane, that is enough. I understand how frustrated you are, but you will not throw tantrums. You're getting that smacking with the hairbrush like it is. Would you like some soap in your mouth as well? Then I'd accept this is going to happen and work on the attitude, little girl." Just because he'd wanted her to have a fit didn't mean he was going to tolerate it from her.

Hermione kept fighting him, knowing she couldn't win. She felt so confused, and his inconsistency today was helping nothing. He silently cracked his hand down over and over on her tenderest places, and in short order she simply couldn't keep fighting. She forced herself to do what she knew he wanted her to. Draco gave her another minute and then stopped as well, making himself calm down.

"What on earth is wrong with you today, Hermione?" He didn't really expect an answer, not deep down, and she said nothing, just sniffled. He patted her back, surprised she wasn't crying harder. Granger normally let go and really bawled, and now she…wasn't. She was wiggling a bit, but in relative terms she hadn't flinched.

He knew he had to get her attention. As annoyed as he was, he was rapidly getting—well, not afraid—concerned, perhaps. Yes, concerned. She needed release and comfort and since she was intent on being a stubborn, naughty little girl he'd simply have to show her very concretely who was in charge and why.

"For a little girl who hates smackings as much as you do, you don't do much to prevent them. Why don't you ever just tell me what's the matter, hmmm? If you were so upset last night, you ought to have called Tibby. She would have got me and I would have come for you. I wouldn't just leave you all by yourself." He patted her firmly for emphasis, determined to stop this before she did herself harm.

"But no, you have to work yourself up for no reason. You see what happens when you do that? Little girls—do—not—decide—what's –best—for--themselves. If they do, they get a very hard smacking right over the knee. We talked last night about this, did we not?"

Hermione inhaled. "Yes, but we never really finished the conversation."

"We're doing that right now. As soon as we're done here, I'm putting you straight down for a nap. I mean it, Hermione, this has got to end. As unfair as this might seem, I'm sparing you a lot of heartache later on, because my parents aren't going to listen to your arguments. Wizarding parents don't. They have to do what's best for you, whether you like it or not."

"And so you'd let them hurt me, if they believed that was right?"

" I wouldn't let anyone hurt you."

"You'd let them do this to me." Hermione was angry to find herself tearing up. She tried so hard to be understanding but damn it, this was private. How dare Malfoy so casually assume she'd find allowing his parents to see her this way was acceptable?

"Yes, I would. This isn't hurting you, Granger, and you know it. You're simply being petulant and difficult."

"It does hurt. This is—I feel—do what you like, I don't want to talk about it anymore." Hermione pressed her face into the cushions of the couch. She could smell the sweet laundry soap and her mother's perfume, just a tiny bit.

Draco felt her breathing alter a bit. Granger was scaring him. Had she just been that upset at waking by herself? She'd seen some awful things in that year she'd spent fighting ; poor little darling must have had a really gruesome dream, and this was the result. Which isn't to say he hadn't seen some things that had scared him; but Draco was a man, and so he simply pushed on. Hermione, with her weaker constitution and frail body, couldn't be expected to bounce back.

"Go and get your hairbrush and bring it back down.' She looked ready to protest until he said flatly "Or else I'll firecall Aunt Andromeda's house and ask Mother to come over and do it for me." That stopped _that _problem. Hermione turned and walked rapidly up the stairs, pulling her skirt down as she went. Grabbing her brush, she was back in record time and simply draped herself over his lap, brush in hand.

Draco smiled a little. Much better. He'd blister her, she'd let go of whatever this was, and everything would be fine. He bared her again and took her knickers right off, setting them beside himself to make a point. Not to mention, Granger looked just adorable like this, smacked backside well up, pouting a little. Too precious by half. He rested a hand on her back and rubbed, still wanting her to feel relaxed despite her current position and strange mood.

Hermione bit her lip. She just didn't understand. It didn't make sense to her that he could be so loving and say such painful things. She breathed deeply, determined not to give in. Her chest hurt with keeping it all in, and she found herself wishing they were back in the Room, where everything about Malfoy had made sense.

Draco's brow furrowed. He pulled her a little tighter to his midriff, trying to help her feel safer. He picked up the brush and, keeping a good hold, smacked it down hard. Hermione yelped and squirmed. He went to work, determined to help his little girl feel better.

The brush was untransfigured. Lacking the salve, Draco hoped the brush would act as a heavier version of the spatula, giving an unbearable sting but no deep burn, or very little. His little girl kicked, moaning miserably, and started to whimper.

Not cry. Draco was getting more uneasy by the moment. The brush might not have been as heavy as the wooden one, but it ought to have been smarting plenty. He lifted his thigh a bit and really paddled her sit spots, trying to provoke a reaction that would help her release whatever it was that was causing her so much unhappiness.

Gasping, Hermione writhed. It wasn't the worst smacking he'd ever given her, but that didn't make it any less difficult to bear. She found herself wanting to cry but unable to—the pain in her chest simply outweighed the pain in her arse. Malfoy laid in harder, lifting his thigh and she couldn't be quiet any more.

"Owww! STOPITOWWW!"

"I certainly will not. Your behavior tells me you can't handle this much control over yourself, so I'll simply have to make sure you have none until this has been dealt with. You were very naughty hiding your upset from me, and even worse about taking your smacking like a big girl. I have half a mind to put you on one of those kitchen chairs for a good long time before your nap. Perhaps that would help you remember your manners."

Hermione shook her head, hair flying. "You don't (OWWWWWW!) understand!"

"Understand what, Hermione?" He slowed his smacks, infinitely relieved she was ready to tell him. Draco enjoyed smacking and scolding his mudblood very much, but he felt the slightest bit bad for being so hard on her when she was clearly upset. Not that he was wrong, of course, but he didn't want her hurt or frightened any more than needed.

"I didn't have a bad dream."

He stopped. "Tibby says you were crying."

"I was." Hermione felt embarrassed to admit it. Which was sort of absurd, she being half naked and over his knee for the most childish punishment imaginable, but the feeling held. He stopped the swats and she took a deep, shuddery breath. His hand found the small of her back and simply sat there, and much to her annoyance, Hermione nestled into it automatically.

"Well, what's the matter, then?"

"Draco, I—I felt very upset that you wouldn't talk with me last night."

"You were being unreasonable."

"No, I wasn't. It's not unreasonable to want to know what's being said right in front of me."

"You seem to have the idea that your concept of reasonability is universal, Granger. I think it's unreasonable for you to keep trying to control things, but that doesn't prevent it." He patted her bum to emphasis his point. Granger was quiet for a moment.

"Control."

"Yes, control. It's not up to you, Hermione. I know that's hard for you to get used to, but that's just how it is. You agreed to let me handle things, and now you have to keep your end of the bargain."

"And your parents?"

"To them as well."

"Has it ever occurred to you that you're asking me to hand control over to a man who's tried to kill me any number of times?"

Malfoy blew air through his teeth. "That's the past."

"How do I know that? You expect me to believe he could change overnight?"

"Is it really more implausible than the idea that you and I are getting married, Granger? Any stranger than this is? Really?"

"We've never tried to kill one another, Malfoy."

"No? We've come close. If things had gone another way, it could have ended like that."

Hermione had got very quiet and very still. Draco pressed a hand to her back and held it. "This conversation is too much for you, Hermione."

"We have to do this."

"It's upsetting you."

"You aren't?"

Draco inhaled. "I hate seeing you unhappy, love. But this is truly what's best for you, and I've a duty to pursue that, even if you don't like it short term."

"It's best for me to be miserable?"

Draco swatted her thigh. "You'll feel better once this is dealt with."

Granger sniffled. "No, I won't. You aren't listening, Malfoy, and that hurts."

Draco almost laughed out loud. Of course he wasn't listening—she was being nonsensical. He knew what was best, and that meant he didn't have to listen when she was acting up or doing something inappropriate.

"Really, Hermione, you sound like a child. Of course I'm not going to listen when you fuss and whinge this way."

Hermione bit her lip to keep her hurt in. "Malfoy, please! We need to talk about this."

"I disagree." He raised his hand and smacked it down hard. She stiffened, sucking air, and Draco nearly threw his hands up in frustration and anger.

"If this(SMACK) is how you want it(SMACK) that's fine (SMACK). When you act like a child (SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK) I treat you like one (SMACK SMACK SMACK)."

She gasped something that made Draco drop the brush in shock. "What did you say to me, Granger?"

"I said Ron wouldn't treat me this way. He's a Pureblood, Malfoy, just like you are, but he'd listen to me."

"Yes, and he cast you aside the second he found a Pureblood, Granger. Just like he is." He didn't mean to say it. It just slipped out. Hermione went still on his lap and then he heard her breathing a little harder. He tentatively put a hand on her back and she tried to reach back to slap his hand away.

"You bastard. You complete prat, how could say a thing like that?"

"That's worse than throwing Weasley at me, is it?"

"Yes!"

He said nothing. Hermione twisted, trying to get up, and he tightened his arm, scared she would fall. Hermione felt almost ill; how he could say a thing like that to her? She squirmed, trying to get away from him, wanting to go somewhere and let the hurt die a little before they continued.

"Let me up, Malfoy."

"So you can run away and refuse to deal with this? Thank you, no."

"I'm not running away, I just want a chance to--"

"I said no, Hermione Jane. You aren't getting up until I think you're ready for this to be over."

Just as Draco had, Hermione had finally had enough. "Listen, Malfoy, maybe this isn't going to work."

"You're being melodramatic."

"I mean it. I'm not sure we can get around this."

"Get around what?"

"I don't know that I can give that much control to someone else. It's…it's frightening, Draco."

He waited a moment. "It wouldn't be if you'd trust me a little, Granger. I've told you over and over that I won't let anyone hurt you."

"I know, but…that day at the Ministry…"

"Oh, for God's sake. That's the past, Granger. It over, finally, and we can move on."

"Over? Not for me, Draco. I see things every night in my sleep. When the Snatchers took Harry and Ron and I, they joked about, about hurting me. They wanted to—to--"

Draco got it. "But they didn't, darling." He rubbed her back, trying to calm her down. He could feel her shivering against his thighs.

"No. But they would have, Draco, and your father wouldn't have stopped it."

That was true. "He wouldn't let them now, precious. Not for anything in the whole world." Draco didn't admit his father couldn't, on pain of damnation. He had a potentially good thing going here, after all. Hermione was shaking harder and he rubbed more forcefully, meaning to calm her down.

"That isn't the point. The point is, you can't expect me to get past all this overnight. We've both seen and done things…it might be better for you to marry someone else. Parkinson, or Bulstrode or someone."

Hermione yelped as Draco's hand cracked down on her thigh with enormous force. "OWWWWWW!"

"Honestly, Granger, why don't you just go all out and say 'you'd be better without me'?"

"That isn't what I meant, Malfoy. All I meant is there's a lot of cultural baggage neither of us anticipated, and maybe we need to think this through."

"If I'd wanted a Pureblood I would have gotten one. I could have had any girl in Slytherin and you know it."

"I feel as though you don't respect me sometimes."

"Of course I respect you. I'm just unwilling to give into you, that's the difference."

"Malfoy, I …sometimes I might be a little…difficult. I admit that. But there are times when I'm trying to tell you something and you dismiss it. It really makes me very angry when you do that."

"And it makes me angry when I'm trying to explain something to you and you cling to silly muggle notions rather than listening to me like a good girl."

"Draco, my parents are muggles. If I hadn't happened to have been born magical, I would be a muggle. I don't see anything wrong with that."

"And that's what I'm striving to correct."

"Has it ever occurred to you that you might have been a muggle?"

"Granger!" To Draco, she had damned near blasphemed. It was all he could not to start smacking her again for even thinking a thing like that. She wiggled a little.

"It's true. Magic isn't some indicator of moral superiority, Draco. It's an accident of birth, just like beauty is. You might have been muggle born and I a Malfoy. Haven't you ever considered that?"

"No!"

"May I sit up? I'm getting dizzy just hanging here."

"Perhaps all the blood rushing to your head is making you say crazy things. Up we get."

He immediately set her on his lap, trapping her against himself to remind her who was in control. She didn't melt against him, but neither did she fight him as she had earlier. He bounced her a little, relishing her squeal of 'stop it, Malfoy!"

"Was that what all that was about, Hermione Jane?"

She shook her head. "I really am uncomfortable with a lot of this.. It feels too intimate to me, sharing all this with your parents. Giving up control to people I hardly know…it's hard."

"That's not negotiable, I'm afraid. My parents were very clear that they expect to live a traditional lifestyle, and that's part of it."

"I can't see why they'd even want to know most of what they asked. It's not as though they actually want us to marry."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Where'd you get that idea?"

"Your parents have always hated me."

"Yes, but they've agreed to let us marry, so now they're honour bound to treat you like their own child."

"And it doesn't strike you as a bit…worrisome, that the only reason they tolerate me is because they have to?"

"Granger, why did we start seeing one another?"

"What?"

"That night in the library, what did I tell you I wanted?"

"To give me an option between Umbridge and yourself."

"Mmm-hmm, but more generally?"

"I don't recall."

"I wanted to see what it felt like to do all the things I'd ever dreamed about to a real live girl. Don't think I told you that at the time, but that was my motivation. I planned on obliviating you after and turning you in anyway."

"You did?"

"Mmm-hmm. But I liked it so much I wanted to do it again, and since you'd already sworn…" He shrugged. Hermione looked shocked and he wondered if he'd spoken too much. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because my point is, sometimes unexpected things can spring from less than ideal beginnings."

"It's different, Malfoy."

"Different in degree, maybe."

Hermione looked unconvinced. "I don't know…"

Draco huffed in irritation, rolling his eyes. "Damn it, Granger, you're going to make me say it aloud."

"Say what?"

"That I love you."

"What?"

"I said I love you, you incorrigible brat. Are you happy now? God."

Hermione felt her eyes welling. "Oh, Draco." She pressed her head to his chest and let the hurt and pain and wonder and hope of the last twenty four hours out, clinging to him for dear life. For his part, Draco had never been so confused.

"You lie there and sulk while I smack you and cry when I give you affection. Are you going to get angry if I give you sweeties or something? Laugh when I tell you off? Honestly." But his eyes got a little damp too, and he rocked her, infinitely relieved.

"All right, Hermione, calm down. I'm not going to let anyone harm you ever again. Silly little girl, it's always something with you, isn't it?"

"Can we talk about a compromise? And a favour?"

"That would depend."

"I'll try to live traditionally, if you'll ask your parents to acknowledge certain boundaries I can't cross yet. Is that fair?"

Draco gnawed his lip. "I think that might work. What's the favour?"

"When we find Mum and Dad, would you spend a little time with them? Your mother seems to have the idea they abused me or something. They don't show love like your parents, Draco, but they do show it."

"Doesn't sound it to us. I don't mean that snidely, Granger, I'm being sincere."

"When I was nine, I developed a bad case of chicken pox.' She briefly explained what that meant and he nodded. ' Grandfather died of that. Dragon pox, we call it. Mother told me to ask if you'd had it."

"My Dad sat up with me, even though he'd been at work all day. The light was hurting my eyes, and I itched all over. So he put a cold face flannel on my eyes and read to me all night long. The Scarlet Letter. He said it was a theme." She smiled faintly.

"They were so happy for me when I got my letter. So proud. They didn't even mind I wasn't going to be a dentist like them." Draco listened, surprised by the picture she was painting. He'd assumed her fondness for her parents was simply the natural filial piety of any child—once she spent time being cared for by his parents, she would understand how awfully neglected she'd been.

"If that's the case, Hermione, why didn't they ever bother to discipline you properly? Mother and Father nearly had heart attacks when they heard you say they'd never smacked you."

"Some muggles don't believe in that, and my parents are among them. It just isn't done much anymore, that's all."

Draco shook his head. "Strikes me as neglectful. If you'd pulled half the nonsense on Father and Mother, not to mention the way you spoke to your elders…" He shuddered for effect. "And anyway, it's much healthier for the child."

"In what way?"

"For one, you seem to have a little problem letting go sometimes. Remember Edgecombe? What would have happened if I hadn't smacked you, Hermione?"

She looked away. "I'd probably feel even worse about it than I already do."

"Exactly. Why wouldn't they want relief from that for you?"

"They feel there are better ways to teach a child than hitting them, is all."

"Granger, there's a world of difference between a smacking and hitting to hurt someone." He loosened his hold very slightly and tipped her forward to give her a fairly gentle swat. She obligingly yelped and looked offended.

"That was a smack. It stings, but have I harmed you?"

Hermione tried to be diplomatic. "Well, no, not as such, but---"

"There, you see. I was right."

"I never said that! I just said you haven't harmed me. Sometimes it really hurts."

"Sometimes you're very naughty. I would never purposely hurt you, Hermione. No bruises, no broken skin. Just a hot backside and a sorry little girl."

"I thought you meant to kill me, that first time. What made you change your mind?"

"About obliviating you? You just looked so delightful I couldn't do it. Knickers down, bouncing around rubbing your little red bottom, crying like you'd never been so sorry in your life. Couldn't do it." He didn't add that he'd left the memory to torment her further. That would be madness.

"I thought you'd get tired of it eventually and leave me alone."

" I didn't. It was too much fun."

"Not for me!"

He nuzzled her neck. "No? I'm not sure I believe you."

"Well, not that part. It was sort of fun, debating with you." She sighed and spread her legs ever so slightly, encouraging him to take advantage of her lack of knickers. He grinned and shook his head.

"Oh no, little madam. Someone's going to be arse up in a few minutes, and I wouldn't want to confuse my little girl by giving her mixed signals. Although, if she takes the rest of her punishment like a big girl, we could arrange to release her humours later."

"You're going to smack me more?" Hermione tried to look convincingly well punished. Draco chuckled and caught her face in his hand. "I certainly am. You were quite a hellion."

This seemed an opportune time to ask a question that had been bothering him, now that they were on the topic of muggles. "How do most muggles discipline their children, then?"

"They send them to their rooms, or no pudding, or something like that."

"Their rooms? Alone?"

"Yes, of course. It wouldn't be a punishment, if they weren't alone."

Draco sat up straighter. "The hell it wouldn't! That's terrible." He actually found himself pitying little muggle children slightly. He couldn't imagine sending a child someplace all by itself. Was this why Granger was so strange about things?

"It's just a little time alone, Draco. It isn't for hours and hours or in the cold or something like that."

"Doesn't matter. Children need their parents most when they're being punished.' He squeezed her and lightly tickled her ribs. "I never send my little girl away when she's been naughty, do I?"

"Come to think of it, you never have."

It had never occurred to Draco to do so. Even when he'd hated her, he would simply have never sent her away directly after a punishment. At first it had been routine and his semi conscious mimicry of his parents' philosophy, later it had been the sadistic thrill of her tears and pleas, and finally it had been the urge to soothe her. But never solitude until he was sure she was settled, not unless he absolutely had to.

"Children are so pitiful when they're upset. How could any parent bear to do that?"

Hermione shrugged. "Like I said, it's only for a few minutes."

He shook his head. "Is that what your parents did to you?"

"Not really. I wasn't naughty often."

Draco snorted and gave her another light swat. " Liar."

"That was later. I was a very obedient child, by muggle lights."

"I shall ask your parents about that and see what they say."

Without warning, he flipped her back over his knee and patted her bum. "My goodness, I did a proper job with that brush. You'll be squirming at supper, won't you? My little girl does that when she's been smacked for being naughty. On the other hand, it's getting close to two. Perhaps we'll finish this upstairs."

He handed her the brush and carried her up the stairs, leaving her knickers sitting on a divan cushion. They went into Hermione's little yellow bedroom and he put her on the bed on her back.

Taking the brush, he put her knees to her chest. "You're getting a sound dozen, and if that isn't enough we'll do more. Think it will be?"

"I hope so."

"I'll bet you do."

**CRACK**! **CRACK**!

**CRACK**! **CRACK**!

**CRACK**! **CRACK**!

**CRACK**! **CRACK**!

**CRACK**! **CRACK**!

**CRACK**! **CRACK**!

Hermione sobbed. It might only have been twelve but each one had counted, and considering how sore she was already, her arse was burning dreadfully. At least Draco seemed to think it adequate. He put the brush down and slid her skirt completely off.

"Is that enough, precious? Or do you need a little more? It's always all right for you to ask me for more if you don't feel better yet."

"Enough! Please!"

He laughed. " Hmmm, that was definitive. Come here, I'm going to hold you." She flipped over and crawled into his lap. He held her and rocked while the last of her tears passed. Suddenly, improbably, she giggled. "What's funny?"

"Only you, Draco Malfoy, would tell someone you love them that way."

He blushed a bit. "Yes, well…it wouldn't do for me to get sentimental. One of us got has to be an unrepentant bastard about things."

Hermione laughed harder. "That's terrible!"

"No, it isn't. Life is difficult, and I have to be ruthless so you can live comfortably.' He smiled mistily, rather looking forward to being an ass on Hermione's behalf. Hermione frowned slightly, twisting to kiss him. "Let's not go too far with this."

"Limits, Granger…well, you know the rest."

She snuggled against him. "Take a nap with me?"

"I suppose. And I think we should release your humours, don't you?"

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "It's been forever."

"I agree. That's right, ankles up and---my heavens, someone's wet already. This has been let go too long. Tell me, were you a good little girl while we were apart?"

"How so?"

He laughed and found her clitoris, prompting a gasp of pleasure. "Did you give into temptation when it came to this?"

"A few times I did. On the whole, I was very good." She sighed as the first warm waves of pleasure danced down her nerve endings. "Oh my, just like that."

"And those few times, what did my little girl think about?"

"Ahhhh! You!"

"Me?"

"Y'sir! Harder!"

"What about me?"

"This! Malfoy!"

Draco dropped his head between her open thighs and lapped. Hermione dug her nails into his neck, moaning, and inside her he laughed very slightly. Yes, it was very good to be him. She came a moment later and he pulled out, running to the bathroom to swish his mouth.

"Well, love, was it worth waiting for?"

She opened one eye and yawned, still happily splayed out. "Mmm-hmm. Thank you, it was very nice. Want me to do anything for you?"

"Not until tomorrow."

"What happens tomorrow?"

"I've arranged for some contraceptive to be sent over, and I firmly anticipate absolute hours of—you know."

She giggled. "Sounds good. Arranged when?"

He grinned. "While you showered this morning. I do love firecalling, so convenient."

"Why do you always rinse your mouth after? I'm not offended, just curious."

Draco paused. Oh Merlin. "Well, it's just…bodily fluids, remember? Clean and unclean?"

"But I'm—all right?"

He nodded, not about to tell her it was sort of revolting. He wanted to live, after all. "Of course it is, precious. I'm just very particular about matters of health, is all."

She climbed under the blankets and he spooned her. They lay together in the dim sunlight, breathing closely. "Malfoy?"

"Hmmm?"

"Love you too."

He held her tighter. "Of course you do, dearest."

.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Love to all reviewers**

**I owe Countess Black so much in regards to this chapter, it isn't funny. She helped me with characterization, and much of this scenerio was directly or indirectly suggested by things she said or wrote to me. T, hon, thanks so much for your help.**

**Remember my snooty blond Plot Bunny? Turns out he has a bigger, grumpier Daddy, who seems to take over whatever he's in. Lucius is a huge bastard, and that comes out here. I love it, but it might be a little disconerting to some.**

**Sascha: I regret you do not like my work. That is your right. I apologize for nothing I've written. That is mine. I feel courtesy impells me to answer, and this is my final word on the topic. I have been absolutely open as to the nature of the story and, if after that, you read it and feel offended, while I regret you've wasted your time, I am in no way morally culpable. I wish you the best,**

**Madea**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The package, wrapped in discreet brown paper and tied with hemp twine, was delivered at 9.15 AM on the nose, at which time Hermione was munching a piece of Tibby's horrid toast and trying to solve the Prophet's crossword. Draco opened the window to the owl, paid the fee and gave the creature (a very common brown owl, he thought) a bit of horribly burned bacon as a treat.

The owl, wishing to be polite, swallowed it quickly, hooted a thanks (common it might have been, but good manners are free) and flapped away. Draco opened the parcel, grinning, and inventoried the contents. Setting everything down, he found his mudblood struggling with the final clue. He put his hands around her waist, lifted her over his shoulder, and grabbing the parcel, carried her laughing up the stairs.

They were naked in record time. Hermione being dosed satisfactorily, they lay down and started touching for the first time in over a year. Draco, Hermione noticed, was more muscular, and he'd acquired several new scars. She didn't ask. Hermione, Draco observed, was finally filling out from her long hunger. She was very scarred, especially her limbs. He resolved to find out why and kill whomever had done it (Weasley, if the ancestors were very, very kind?)

Draco induced a finger and she sighed. Gently rolling her on her back, he put her legs on his shoulders and, filled with anticipation, thrust after a little more priming. Neither of them was prepared for what happened, which is to say a terrible burning pain.

"What's happened?"

Hermione sucked in air. "I'm so sorry. It's been a long time, and we just got carried away."

Draco swallowed his disappointment. "Shall we try again later?" He had an erection that hurt, but he would simply have to show masculine continence and do what was best for his little girl.

"I think it will be all right. Go slowly, if you don't mind."

Draco was torn. He certainly wanted to have congress with Granger; but she was awfully delicate, and too much exertion would be very bad for her. She might have to take to bed or something like that. And then Mother would ask why. Draco considered he'd rather duel his mad aunt than mention anything about this in front of Mother.

"That might not be a good idea, Granger."

"Please, Malfoy? I want to so badly." What man could possibly resist that? Draco positioned her and then guided himself in. Slowly, as slowly as the first time. It wasn't dissimilar, really. Hermione tensed and then relaxed as he finally started, very slowly, to thrust.

It was pain, but it was good pain. Hermione was so glad to have him here, safe with her, his weight welcomed and longed for and finally arrived. Her nerves began to pulse in time with his thrusts, and he slowed down even more, gently kissing her neck and murmuring softly into her hair.

Draco was suspended in a state of wordless, thoughtless bliss. At some distant level, he knew he ought to be ashamed to yielding to his animal nature this way, but he ignored that stupid, nagging voice and simply gloried in where he was and who he was with.

His climax startled them both. It was violent, involuntary, the best he'd had in ages. Hermione grinned and lay back as he slowly disengaged his body from hers and used her wand to clean them both. "Was it worth waiting for?"

"It certainly was, love. For you?"

"Yes. Would you…would you be amenable to going again in a little while?"

"You're up to something."

"I found some books, and I want to try the things inside them."

Draco frowned. "What kind of books?"

She blushed. "You know, books about…"

His eyes widened. "Granger! You have books like that and you never told me?"

"Well, no. You've mentioned not being interested in the muggle way of doing things, so I thought I wouldn't mention it. But since we've the house to ourselves, and plenty of contraceptive, I rather…forget it." She was almost frighteningly red.

"I didn't say no, did I? I'm just very curious about what my little girl was reading."

"When I was cleaning the house, I found some books and I,well, it seemed--"

"_Hermione Jane_!"

"It isn't as though I sought them out, Draco. It just happened, and I was alone then. So I read them."

"Of course you did. My little girl can be very naughty when her curiosity is piqued by something. Are they full of pernicious muggle ideas?"

"Not pernicious, different." Draco thought that was roughly the same, but on the other hand, frankly, some of those muggle perversions sounded fun. And he could make it clear that it was a one time things, only for research purposes.

"Mmmm, but is it appropriate reading for such a very little girl? She has plenty of books right here, after all." Hermione wiggled a little. She really did want to do something new, and she wasn't suggesting anything abnormal. But a new position wouldn't hurt once in a while, would it?

"It's nothing deviant. Can't we try it this once, and if you hate it, we don't have to do it again?"

Draco pretended to consider. " I suppose. But if I think it's impacting you, it stops at once, understand?" He was thinking she would lie on her side or something, perhaps with pillows. Imagine his shock when, having indicated he was ready, she proceeded to push him down and kneel atop him.

"Granger, whatever are you—oh my."

"Punish me later if you want, Draco, but I had to try—oh!"

Draco ought to have stopped it. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he ought to have called it off at once. It was unnatural, immoral, a terrible sin. But Merlin, it felt amazing. She was astride him, moving herself on his—it was incredible.

Hermione thought so, too. To her surprise, she could feel an orgasm building. She moved faster, and under her Draco hissed an obscenity and then her name. When she came, she gasped with pleasure; he came a moment later and they laughed together in perfect rapture.

Hermione carefully climbed off. The blankets were sticky and so were they. Draco wrinkled his nose. "God, this is disgusting. How do you stand it?"

"How do you stand putting your tongue in me?"

"Touche. Hold still, love." He scourgifed them and then the sheets. Tibby would come in and clean, of course, but one simply had to uphold certain standards.

"Did you like it?"

He rolled on his elbow and gave her a long look. "Well, it was certainly unusual. On the other hand, it must have tired you awfully, darling. Did it? The truth, now."

"Not really. My heart rate has risen, but I feel so good I don't care."

"It can't be good for you, is all I'm saying. Such a little girl mustn't exert herself in these matters. Not to mention, little madam, it's hardly something of a nature I want you knowing."

"It's normal human knowledge."

"Not for witches. We do things this way for a reason." His mudblood looked crestfallen and Draco searched for something to mollify her slightly. "Perhaps—perhaps—if you've been very good lately, we'll talk about it once in a great while."

Hermione suppressed a smile. Malfoy had just compromised, even if it was more or less unintentional as far as she could tell. She nodded and said gravely "That seems fair. Shall we shower?"

They showered off while Tibby cleaned the bedroom. Draco had sworn the stalwart little elf to secrecy about he and Granger's activities when it came to this—he could all too easily picture Tibby letting something slip at an inopportune time.

After they lay down again, skin on skin. Hermione had sprinkled herself with talc borrowed from her mother's vanity. Draco recognized the smell at once. "That's the lotion you always wore."

"Yes. Mum had a set, and she let me take the lotion to school with me." Hermione smiled mistily and climbed into bed, leaving faint white marks on the dark blue sheets.

"You know, I ought to tan you for this."

"The powder?"

"No, of course not. What we just did in bed, with you on top."

She sat up. "You liked it too!"

"That's not the point. You know better than to read something questionable without asking. And anyway, you just look so cute in that corner with your sleep trousers at your knees, it's hard to resist." She huffed, pouting, and Draco 'accidentally' tickled her ribs. Hermione retaliated by tickling the back of his knees, and so they spent a very enjoyable time trying to end the discussion that way.

It failed, but in a lot of ways it was a mercy, really. If it hadn't the events of the next few hours would have been much more awkward, if possible. Tibby had a knack for ruining moments, and this one was no exception.

She popped into the room, grinning. "Young Master! Madam is sending a letter. The Ministry is opening a restricted Floo connexion between here and Madam Andromeda's and she and Master is coming to dinner. They is worried you is not getting enough food."

Hermione couldn't understand why Draco leapt up and started dressing. "Granger, hurry! They'll be here any--" The Floo went and Narcissa's voice rang out. "Darlings, where are you?" Draco finished dressing and bolted for the stairs. Neither of them noticed that, in his haste, Draco had bumped the talc, getting a bit on his trouser cuffs and leaving a little cloud down the front of the dresser and onto the floor.

Hermione struggled into a skirt and jersey, trying to comb her wet hair and pinning it as quickly as possible. It struck her as she shoved her feet into shoes and followed behind Malfoy. 'Dinner used to mean lunch, didn't it?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Narcissa Malfoy was an intelligent woman. Well read, witty and patrician, she was possessed of the same shrewd cunning of which her husband had made a career. As was the custom of her class, she was largely innocent of the matters of the flesh. She thought of 'those things' as rarely as possible, and always with a certain well bred distaste.

So it never occurred to her, seeing how disheveled the children were, that it was because they had been enjoying one another. She embraced them both and then sighed, looking at Hermione's wash worn, baggy jersey and shapeless grey skirt.

"Hermione, my darling, what were you doing before I came?"

Hermione made herself sound calm. "We were just talking, Mother, that's all."

"Like that?"

"Like what?"

"Come upstairs, precious. Let's find you something else to wear." Draco sat on the divan, breathing a sigh of relief. When the Floo flared and Lucius stepped out, Draco quietly indicated that they might wish to stay downstairs, lest they be sucked into some feminine issue or another. They waited, chatting, for the women to come back, feeling they'd dodged a bludger.

The bedroom was slightly rumpled. Tibby had, thankfully, got rid of the most incriminating evidence, but it still looked recently vacated. Narcissa, intent on finding more suitable clothing for Hermione, didn't initially notice anything wrong.

After a few fruitless moments, she sighed and sat down on the bed. "Hermione, this is inexcusable."

"Sorry?" Narcissa saw the poor thing looked uneasy and softened her tone. "Not you, love. But I'm appalled your parents took such poor care of you."

"Oh, no, they were very good to me. I just never thought much about clothes, that's all."

Narcissa felt sympathy twist her insides, along with a sharp anger at the stupid muggles who'd raised such a devoted daughter. Dressing the child in rags, giving her books rather than little girl toys to play with, never disciplining her; a wonder the child had turned out even this well. She reached out and began tugging the pins from Hermione's hair just as she had before.

Hermione felt her eyes prickle. She loved her parents very much, and knowing that Narcissa didn't see things the way muggles would didn't make it less painful to hear Mum and Dad criticized. She fetched the hairbrush and sat still while Narcissa directed Tibby on how she wanted Hermione's hair done.

It would do, Narcissa thought to herself, but they were taking Hermione shopping the second they were able. It was unthinkable that her daughter in law should have to dress this way. She began drawing up lists in her mind of what the girl would need. Up close, she could smell something, some kind of perfume or something. It was horrid; she wrinkled her nose as the last pin was put in place.

Hermione stood to put the brush back. Narcissa noticed the sheets had been changed and approved; Tibby was a very good housekeeper. There were streaks of something powdery white on this clean set; talc, she saw. It would have to be thrown away at once, of course. It was far too muggle and common, let alone…

There was a small heap of powder on the floor by the dresser. It looked as though it had been knocked off, perhaps by someone in a hurry. The girl must have been resting and rushed down to meet her. A very good sign—Hermione liked being treated the right way.

They walked back down the stairs and greeted the men. Lucius smiled, delighted to see his wife again. She looked as beautiful as ever. Even after almost twenty five years, the sight of her still took his breath away. "Narcissa, you look lovely."

"Thank you, Lucius." They didn't embrace, of course. It would be terribly crass of a married couple to behave that way. But the looks they gave one another said volumes, and seeing it, Draco was reminded that his parents had a whole, separate world that only they would ever inhabit. It was strange, to think of his parents having little jokes and long conversations in the darkness of night as he and Granger did.

Narcissa bent to give her sweet boy a kiss on the top of his head. " My darling, you must come and see your cousin Teddy. He looks just like you did at that age, only with dark hair, and the cutest little—Draco Lucius Malfoy, what's that on your cuff?" She had seen the talc and made the obvious connection.

"Mother, I---"

"Hermione, my dear, go to your room, please. Father and I must talk to Draco."

Blanching, Draco sat while his mudblood quickly made her way upstairs and closed her door. Then the questions started.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

"And you felt this breech of propriety would somehow aid Hermione's moral education?"

"Well, I— it seemed crueler not to, really. She had terrible nightmares, and it was just so hard to say no."

Despite herself, Narcissa was moved. It was so good of Draco to show such commitment and care to his intended, even if they had no business doing such a thing until they were married. She put a hand to his shoulder.

"Of course it was, love. But you must remember that we have an image, a reputation to protect. Suppose it got out. How would you defend her honour if the allegations are true?"

Lucius was thus far silent. He leant forward, listening to his wife give their son, if not the scolding of his life, definitely in the top five. "Draco, why did you not tell us it was this bad?"

Draco swallowed. "Father, I---Hermione is…uncomfortable with…it's been a very hard year for her."

Lucius' eyebrows rose. "You mean to say she's afraid of me?"

"No, not exactly. But she has awful nightmares about the…incident…at the Ministry, and some of the things that happened at home."

Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose. It wouldn't do to have the girl expecting an attack every time he wished her a good morning. He expected his family to be a certain way, and part of that was maintaining warm, close relationships. It was a mudblood--ordinarily he wouldn't have given a damn. But this was his daughter in law-- the mother of his son's children.

Narcissa was thinking much the same. She chewed her lip delicately and then said "Shall I talk with her?"

Draco looked a little sheepish. "That might not be advisable, Mother. She has a notion that confidences are almost sacred. She'll be furious if she thinks I told you."

Lucius shook his head. The little chit made her feelings known, that was for certain. He wondered what he could do to put her at ease. An idea came to him as though from some divine bolt from the blue. "You know, I've been meaning to catalogue Father's old books. Would Hermione be willing to help?"

Draco laughed. "Do giants steal livestock?" He smirked. "I'd be careful, though. She's quite a nose for mischief, not to mention Dark spells. Would you believe she's the one that hexed Marietta Edgecombe?"

Lucius' eyebrows shot up. "Really? Pauline Edgecombe's daughter?"

"The same."

The men shared a chuckle. "She's telling everyone Marietta accidently got splashed with potion, and the pattern was a freak accident."

"It was Granger. She got a copy of '_Speculum Veneficia Atterimum' _from the Restricted Section and used it to hex the parchment that served as roll for that little club of Potter's fifth year. Purely on accident, as it happened, but…"

"I hope you've discussed this issue with her, Draco."

"Oh yes, Mother. In some depth." Draco's tone and expression left no doubt what he meant. Lucius simply nodded, having suspected as much, but Narcissa, who had hither to doubted that Draco really did that to Hermione, reached out and clasped her son's hand. "Was that the first time?" Draco went so white Lucius had to step in. "The first time you corrected her, Draco."

"No, Mother. I had corrected her before." Draco couldn't look at either of his parents. His father's eyes, he was sure, were glittering with amusement, and Mother's with gentle curiosity. Like Hermione, Mother had to be protected and kept safe, although, since his own dear grandparents had stepped in, she could give guidance rather than receiving it.

Lucius cocked his head, "What was the first time, Draco?"

Draco's stomach plummeted. Oh dear. "Well, you see..." He accidentally left out the part about coercing her into it, and the threats he had made.

"It was gallant of you, Draco, to step in, but on earth possessed you to react in that manner?"

Draco thought faster than he ever had. "I thought Granger could be of some use, and giving her to Umbridge wouldn't facilitate that. Allowing her to choose my correction over Umbridge's left her in my debt, while making sure she perceived she'd been given a real punishment for her unacceptable conduct."

"Very clever, my darling. That was quick thinking on your part." Narcissa nodded her approval, imagining her son finding Hermione, who must have been terrified in the dark by herself, and giving her a choice between a session with that toad faced imbecile or a simple smacking like she was accustomed to getting at…well, not at home, but it must have seemed a godsend compared to whatever Umbridge would have done.

"How did Hermione take it?" Lucius though he knew. He would, in fact, have given money to see how it played put the first time. His son was strong willed and properly commanding, as befitted a Malfoy, but Granger was stubborn and, he'd wager, resistant to most forms of control.

"Not well. I had to pin her down. She actually tried to stand up, if you can believe it."

"At her age?" Narcissa shook her head. At fifteen, the girl ought to have been submitting much more readily to chastisement, especially when it was so clearly called for. And it had been called for, without a doubt. A girl creeping around alone at night was unacceptable enough, but in the Restricted Section, and somewhere as dangerous as Hogwarts…she shook her head.

"She saw nothing wrong with her behavior?"

"Considering the fight she put up, I would say not. The situation has much improved since then."

"All the same, I shall go and have a word with her about what we've discussed." Narcissa stood and walked rapidly toward the stairs.

Lucius waited until he heard the latch on the mud—Granger—Hermione's door click shut. Then he smiled at his son and said, very levelly "Now that Mother has gone, Draco, you may tell me what actually happened that night."

"Father, I--"

"You can't expect me to believe this was some sort of altruism on your part. I'm your father. I know you better than that, because you are so very, very like me."

Draco nodded. "It's much as I told Mother, really."

"If I asked Hermione, would she tell the same story? Poor little mudblood, shivering in the dark?"

"She would agree with the basics, but our interpretation of events might differ slightly."

Lucius laughed. "And I suppose you have a good explanation for this as well?" And he stood and lifted the cushion. A pair of girl's knickers, forgotten in yesterday's events.

"Oh bloody hell." Draco clapped a hand to his mouth. Lucius laughed again at the sheer horror on the boy's face. "I am still waiting."

So Draco explained that too.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Narcissa opened the door and sat on the bed beside her son's intended, gently taking the book from her hands. She flipped it to look at the title, wrinkling her nose a little. "Hogwarts, a history'?"

"Just a little light reading, Mother."

Narcissa, whose tastes in books ran more toward novels and poetry about flowers and sunsets, mentally swore to find a way to help Hermione relax a little. All this heavy reading and exercise couldn't be good for her. She took the girl's hand in her and waited a moment.

"Draco tells us he's been sleeping in here. Is that true?"

"Yes, Mother."

"I have to say, I am a little disappointed. Not in you, exactly, but definitely in Draco. He knows better than that, and he ought to have had the self control to know to refuse. I understand that at your age, it can seem very hard to ignore those urges, but darling, we would not insist if this were not the best thing for you. You know that we care about you, don't you?"

Hermione nodded, surprised by the way her chest squeezed painfully. She missed her parents terribly, and the mild scolding, delivered in such a soft tone was painful in a way she was sure Narcissa didn't intend.

"Ordinarily, this would be an occasion for serious punishment, but since you're new to our way of doing things, Father and I think a good talk will suffice instead. From now on, we expect that Draco will sleep in his bed and you in yours, is that clear?"

"Yes, Mother. But please don't be cross with Draco. "

Narcissa cocked her head. "Dearest, Draco deliberately misled you as to the appropriateness of this behavior. We understand you don't know any better, but he ought to have instructed you rather than giving in."

Hermione made herself count to ten. "I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"Don't be embarrassed, love. Plenty of girls feel this way, and they haven't even suffered half of what you have." Narcissa brushed the girl's fringe out of her eyes and smiled. "And really, it's a very good sign."

"What is? Mother."

Narcissa smiled gently. "Your fear of the dark, precious. Draco's told us you're too afraid to sleep by yourself, so he comes in and sleeps with you. Women are meant to be timid, and this tells us your essential nature hasn't been harmed by all the ugliness you saw. Shhhh, it's all right."

Wizards and witches, as a rule, are used to free affection between family members. So when she leant to embrace Hermione, Narcissa expected the girl would go limp in her arms and start to cry. Poor darling, why wouldn't she? All that horror with Potter and Weaseley boy, it was an absolute miracle she could even get out of bed in the morning.

It didn't happen. The girl was rigid as a block of marble, though, when it became apparent that Narcissa wasn't going to let go, Hermione did slowly lower her head to the woman's shoulder for a second.

"Is something the matter?"

"No, Mother."

"Why don't you relax?"

"I don't—my family didn't—I don't really like to be touched."

Narcissa went so still Hermione thought she'd mortally offended her. Trying to wriggle from her grasp. Hermione said quickly "I certainly didn't mean to of—"

Then Narcissa brought her hand up to cup Hermione's cheek. The woman's lashes were damp and she said softly "Oh, precious, what did they do to you?"

"Whom?"

"Those muggles. It's all right, my darling, Mother is here. Shhhhh." She wrapped her arms about Hermione again and held her hard, then sat back. She took hold of Hermione's wrist and pushed the sleeve of her jumper back.

"Did they do it somewhere I can't see?"

"Do what?"

"Beat you. " Narcissa inspected the skin of Hermione's arm a long moment and then pulled the sleeve down. All the scars were new enough that they were probably from either the last year or the girl's rather active life at Hogwarts.

"My parents never beat me, Mother."

"It's all right, Hermione, you can tell the truth. You're safe with us, remember?"

"Really, they didn't!" Hermione was starting to get upset. She understood that wizards did things very differently, but this was too far. Narcissa motioned for her to lie down. "No, on your stomach for me." Without hesitating, she lifted Hermione's jersey. No old scars that she could see.

"Mother, I--"

"Hush, love." She gently put a hand between Hermione's shoulder blades and rubbed, just as she had for Draco when he was small. Hermione jumped a little, reminded of Malfoy himself, and then went still. She was so upset she didn't know where to start, and the last thing she wanted was to be touched. She and Malfoy would be having the talk of a lifetime.

Poor Hermione, Narcissa thought. She didn't know how to react to being touched gently. The older witch pulled her jersey down and murmured soothingly while rubbing the girl's back, wanting to be associated with security and comfort in Hermione's mind. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me, my darling?"

Yes, thought Hermione fiercely, a good many things. She restrained herself; it would avail her nothing but cost her much to lose her temper. "I think you may have misunderstood. My parents would never hurt me that way, Mother. Never. It's just that muggle families are less physical than wizarding families, especially once the children are older."

"I don't understand."

"Muggles would think too much contact between parents and adult children very strange. Usually as the child ages, the parents take less and less of their time. They're always there, of course, but not in the same way, and part of that is the amount of touching is much less."

Narcissa shook her head, unseen by the supine girl. She kept rubbing as Hermione talked, determined that she should get used to being nurtured and cared for. This was going to be a tremendous amount of work. Draco must have done a truly excellent job to have even got the girl this far. Narcissa's eyes prickled a bit. So generous, just like his father.

"Darling, I need you to be very brave. Can you do that?" Hermione bit her lip. Malfoy was a dead man. In fact, he was worse than dead. She would find something really ghastly and horrible to do to him. Perhaps transfiguration into an aphid? Or a newt? She smiled, face in the pillow, and then said "Yes, Mother."

"Tell Father what you told me."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

. Lucius nodded slowly. "And you were gentle with her?"

"Yes, Father. Once she stopped fighting me, it was fine. Hermione is, as long as she feels she deserves correction."

"I must say, Draco, I'm very pleased with the way you've handled this. She seems loads better from your younger days."

Draco flushed with pleasure. "Thank you, Father."

Narcissa came down the stairs like a delicate, elegant, well bred fury. "Draco Lucius Malfoy, why didn't you tell me about that poor child's home life?"

"Mother?"

Lucius mentally shivered a little. For all she didn't look it, Narcissa had a nasty temper when roused. She sat down next to Draco and addressed her husband. "Lucius, go and speak to Hermione, won't you?"

"Is something the matter? Was she difficult with you?"

"Not at all. Would she had been, rather than what she told me." Narcissa summarized the conversation to her husband and son. Lucius raised an eyebrow. As much as he hated muggles, he wasn't especially surprised to hear they would treat their children that way. He wondered how many blood traitors like Weaseley pere knew about the degenerates they insisted on protecting.

"That's certainly very unfortunate, Narcissa, but I fail to see how my presence could help anything. The girl is evidentially at peace with her childhood experiences, and you've said yourself that she bears no scars. Draco, what do you think?"

"She's told me other things, Father. Disturbing things." Draco repeated what Hermione had told him about muggle style discipline.

"Alone? That's grotesque." Narcissa clasped her son's wrist a moment in her cool hand. Draco leant a bit closer. "Not to mention, they have all sorts of disgusting medical practices. When she was twelve, Hermione's mother gave her some kind of book about…those things. She had all sorts of ideas…" Draco would literally have fought a troll with a tooth brush before he would have said 'masturbation' in front of Mother, but his parents understood the nature of his complaints.

" She must have been so confused."

"Dreadfully. It took a number of repetitions for some lessons to stick. You know she wanted to work?"

"Work? Work at what?" Lucius smirked a little. He couldn't image a job which a wizard couldn't do better than a witch, except maybe a robe maker or something. Granger wouldn't have wanted anything feminine, of course. She probably wanted to work for the Ministry.

"I didn't let her get that far." Draco smirked right back. Hermione was smart—brilliant, actually—and good at things, but the idea of a Malfoy female working was laughable. She'd be so much happier at home, safe from things which might upset or disturb her.

They three Malfoys spoke at some length. When they were finished, the future had been largely decided, though Hermione did not know it yet. Lucius rose, smoothed his robes, and went to have that talk with his son's intended. This should be easy, but with Granger, nothing ever was.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione heard footsteps on the stairs. She sat up, quickly smoothing her hair. The idea of Lucius Malfoy in her room, by her bed, was stomach turning. She made herself sit up straight and look calm. He would not throw her off balance. She was an adult, not a scared child.

He knocked, at least, though he entered without being bidden. The girl was sitting up, watching him guardedly. "Hello, Hermione."

"Hello. How are you?"

"Fine, fine. Mother's asked me to come and talk to you."

"Yes, sir."

Lucius wished the chit was not so self possessed. It would be easier if he could simply bully her into saying what he wanted and then, after the fact, convince her they were right. Instead, she was eyeing him quite boldly. If she was afraid, she was hiding it well. His respect for her went up a notch.

"Draco tells us you feel rather uncomfortable with some aspects of wizarding culture."

"Yes, sir."

."He also tells us he was forced to punish you quite severely yesterday."

"He _told_ you?" Lucius forced down his smirk. She looked angry enough to spit ink, and he had no doubt his son was in for a fairly unpleasant night. Well, such do these things go. He wanted answers and would have them. The children would learn to adjust.

"I take that as a yes. Tell me, why was it so important to you to know what was being said?"

"I dislike being denied information."

"My son did not promise to tell you whatever concerned you directly?"

"He did. I objected to his cavalier attitude, that was all." Hermione made herself look directly at Lucius as she spoke. Her anger at Draco quite smothered her fear of his father but, as she reminded herself, she needed to keep alert. She was certain he couldn't outright hurt her, but Malfoy senior was dangerous in ways she wasn't wholly sure she understood yet.

"You seem, Hermione, to have something of a habit of this…information seeking. Something about fighting a troll?"

Hermione blushed. "That was essentially an accident."

"I was n the board of directors that year. Minerva McGonagall seemed to believe you went looking for the thing. She submitted a signed statement to that effect, actually. Perjury is a serious crime, you know. Or has she finally lost her grip on her House entirely?"

"No, sir."

"So you lied?"

Hermione sat up straight and looked Lucius in the eye. "Yes, sir. I didn't want Harry and Ron to get in trouble."

"Why were you not in the Great Hall? Surely your little friends were there."

"The other children had been picking on me and I went to the girl's room to hide. I had no idea there was a troll at all until it found me."

"We take a very dim view on lying, Hermione."

"Yes, sir."

"However, I find myself quite disinclined to pursue a matter almost ten years old. Had such a thing happened during the time we were…amicably aquainted, I would have been more than happy to address the issue in appropriate fashion, given the reluctance of the adults in your life to do so, but' he shrugged ' the past is the past, wouldn't you say?"

"There's a muggle saying: those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it."

"Indulge my curiosity, won't you?" Hermione felt her skin prickling. She wished Lucius would be dismissive, cutting, nasty. Having him polite and interested was all together too much, especially given how bizarre the day had been already.

"Was it some misguided loyalty that led you to the Ministry that day? Or, again, information seeking?"

Hermione forced herself to stay relaxed. Inhaling deeply, she said "Both, thought I don't think my loyalty to Harry is misguided. He is my friend, and I wanted to help him."

"Mother believes your family situation is less than ideal. You would disagree, I presume?"

"Yes. My parents loved me, and I them."

"One question, then. Whom did you imagine would write your parents, informing them of your demise? Molly Weasley, perhaps? My sister in law Andromeda?"

The girl cringed. He didn't blame her; it was a brutal thing to say. But he meant it. The fact she had gone off with an idiot like Potter, on the flimsiest of reasons, to rescue an arrogant jackass like Sirius Black, made Lucius surprisingly cross. She had to be taught and he would teach her, no matter how upset it made the girl.

"We thought Sirius---"

"Then you children ought to have told an adult, not rushed off into a situation you weren't prepared for. I understand my actions were, perhaps, not ideal, but some of those people are dangerous. My sister in law and her husband, for example. Dolohov, Avery. You were saved through magical prowess and your own luck, not to mention the timely intervention of the werewolf and the others."

"I realize that now."

"I imagine the last few years have been a learning experience, to say the least."

"Yes."

Lucius leant forward, obscurely pleased when Granger—Hermione—held her ground. 'Good girl' he thought, and then went on. "Then consider this a learning experience as well. Every thing we make you do, every bitter emotion you swallow, is a learning experience. It will serve you in time. These things do."

"Why did you consent to Draco and I marrying?"

Lucius nearly laughed aloud. Brave girl. "Because Draco is my son. You make him happy, and I believe he has had little enough happiness lately. You are strong enough to be an asset to us. And Narcissa quite likes you."

"I don't wish to be anyone's project."

"I don't wish to make you a project. But you must understand your place. Galling as it might be, such is the way of things."

Hermione looked away. " I want more than anything for Draco to be happy. If I didn't, I would never have agreed to this. But sometimes I worry that I'm--"

"Fading? Giving up your precious principals?"

"Yes."

"Child, that's simply life. We trade things for better things. Learning experiences."

"Please understand, this has been difficult on all of us. I am alienating a good many people, some of them friends. And to hear my parents criticized…"

Lucius spread his hand. "May I propose a compromise of sorts? Try things our way, completely, for a year. If you find it still bothers you, then we shall talk about making adjustments."

"I won't violate my beliefs."

"We wouldn't ask it of you."

Hermione took a deep breath. "All right." Lucius studied her a moment longer. "I see what he likes about you. Most women would have been hysterical long before I finished."

"Most women aren't Harry Potter's best friend, and Draco Malfoy's fiancée."

Lucius laughed, a warm, genuine sound that startled Hermione. "That's just right." Then, forcing down his distaste, he put his arms about her. Granger—Hermione, he reminded himself—went rigid just as she always did.

"The first thing you must promise me is that you'll learn to take affection. Life really is far more enjoyable that way. Head down, close your eyes. I'll take your weight, you just let yourself be held. Isn't that much nicer?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, whom?"

"Yes, Father."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Leaving her upstairs, Lucius returned to his family. Draco was sharing a bit of muggle poetry with his mother, both of them clearly enjoying it.

"Very nice, this Donne. Do you suppose he was a wizard?"

"Without a doubt, Mother. Much too vivid to be muggle poetry."

"How did it go, Lucius?"

"She's a strong girl. I think she'll be just fine with guidance. We'll need to be very firm and consistent, her willfulness is quite extraordinary."

Draco nodded."It is that. But she's really very sweet, in her own way."

"I agree. She even let me embrace her a bit."

"So what have you concluded?"

Lucius gave his wife a smile. "You're right as usual, Cissy. She needs at least a year of a loving, normal environment before we can even think of allowing her to see her parents again. They'd only confuse her."

"So you won't have them looked for, Father?"

"Of course I shall. But I promised to have them looked for, not found."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Andromeda was napping when the Malfoys, having eaten with the children, returned. Teddy was awake and Narcissa, cooing, scooped him up. He was a gorgeous baby. She handed him to her husband, who gave the baby his watch chain to play with as the adults chatted.

"Do you think we've made the right choice? About her parents?"

"Yes. Lucius, if you'd seen the state of her clothes…and I simply can't image not cuddling a child. No wonder she's so shy and confused with us. She doesn't how to react to kind treatment."

Lucius nodded. "I just can't see them as being purposefully cruel. She's very devoted to them, is my impression."

"Does she know better?"

"Good point. I told her a year. If she's still persistent, we'll find a pretense to extend it further. And I do intend to have them found. We still owe them bride gifts."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, a house somewhere in Australia, whatever else muggles need. They'll be taken care of very well." He meant it, too. He wanted to make sure they were comfortable and safe. The Malfoys would have Hermione, and the muggles would have muggle things. Perhaps even a squib to care for, some day. It all worked out.

"She misses them very much,"

"Of course she does. I've suggested Draco get her pregnant right away. That will help matters, I should think."

Narcissa smiled. "I can't wait." Teddy started to fuss in earnest and Narcissa kissed his plump little cheek. Lemmy, the elf she had been permitted to take from Malfoy manor, appeared with a bottle and a clean nappy.

Narcissa waved at the elf to be quick and poked the chubby little belly lightly. "Hear that, Teddy? Cousin will soon give you a little friend to play with!"


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Love to reviewers**

**A reviewer mentioned wanting to see Hermione stand up to Draco, or else see Draco find a little empathy. I decided to use it as a prompt, and this is the result. Thank you, truelavendar, for giving the plot bunny a nudge in the right direction.**

**Speaking of thanks, I once again owe Countess Black an enormous debt. Her support and good ideas are invaluable, and much of the plot was inspired directly or indirectly by our conversations.**

**I feel a little torn. I adore Narcissa as a character, but I feel her actions in the last quarter of this chapter are despicable. On the other hand, she sincerely believes eveything she tells Draco ( and Hermione, for that matter). I guess the essential question would be: Does a terrible thing, undertaken with the best of intentions and genuine belief it's painful but necessary, become less terrible?**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The elder Malfoys had been gone for a grand total of five minutes when the fireworks commenced. Draco was reading the Prophet, wondering how he and his mudblood could enjoy themselves if they were forbidden the sharing of a bed. His mind went to work on the problem just as his mudblood plopped down on the divan beside him, looking a little too intense for his liking.

"Hello, darling."

"You are a dead man."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I am not afraid of the dark, and you know that."

" I could hardly tell them the truth, now could I?"

"Why not?"

"Because they've no idea we've been doing this for literal years. Mother and Father thinks this is a recent thing, and who am I to disabuse them?"

"My fiancé. Draco, really, that was unfair."

Draco rolled his eyes. "We've been through that."

"I'm very cross you with you about this. I don't like being used that way." Draco was tempted to make any number of retorts, but the fond remembrances of the phials of contraception stayed his tongue. He put the paper down and looked at his little girl.

"Do you have any idea what they would have done if they knew the truth of things? I meant what I said about Father's smackings, Granger. And he'll do it to you just as fast as he'd do it to me."

"I appreciate that, but couldn't you have found a more dignified way to explain?"

"I didn't exactly have time to explain, you know. I had to think of something, and Tibby's told me you have nightmares."

"I had one weeks ago. It isn't like it's every night."

Draco reached out to cup his mudblood's cheek. "Do calm down, darling. It worked to your benefit, didn't it?"

"No!"

"No?"

"Your mother's convinced my parents were some kind of child abusers. How is that any kind of benefit?"

"It got us both out of the smacking of our lives, for one."

"I would have rather taken the smacking than had them think so poorly of my parents, Draco. I love them as much as you love yours."

Draco felt like telling her that his parents were well aware and approved; it would allow her to transfer those feelings to their family very easily. But he'd learned a few things over the past year, and nodded sagely instead.

"I know, and I did mention it. But you must understand, Mother is of a very passionate nature, and she takes things to heart. I'm not sure she ever really got over losing…well, that loss when I was seven, and I think she's very eager to make sure you feel welcome." All of which was true, if not in quite the way he was phrasing it.

"And you told them you'd smacked me?"

"No."

"Your father knew."

" One of the benefits to a traditional lifestyle, Granger, is that certain things can be understood without being said. I didn't need to tell him, because he knows the consequences of what you did."

"I think you owe me an apology."

"What?"

"I'd like an apology, please. You were out of line in telling them –lying to them-that I'm afraid when I'm not, and even more out of line telling them about our disagreement."

"Absolutely not. I did what I judged best for this family, and you'll have to live with that. You're lucky I haven't decided to smack you for having such an attitude anyway."

"You can't smack me because you don't like what I say."

"Oh yes, I can."

"You can't either. There are times when, I admit, you have a point about some of my behaviors, but this time I have a legitimate complaint and you should address it."

"I certainly shall, never fear. But for right now, you may go to your room and think about what you've got coming for this."

Hermione turned and walked up the stairs. "This isn't over, Malfoy."

"Damned right is isn't."

He read for a good twenty minutes, wanting her to stew and be miserable, and then went to her room. He'd adjust her attitude, she'd cry and want to cuddle a bit, they would have congress. Life was grand. But Hermione had learnt a thing or two, and she'd warded her door against him.

"Granger, this is unacceptable, now open up this instant."

"Not until you apologize and agree to talk about this like adults."

"I'm not the one locking me out like a pouting child!"

"I'm not the one trying to smack someone into submission because I'm annoyed with them!"

"You want to be like this? Fine!" He turned and went to his bedroom to think up a stratagem. He lay down on the bed, hands behind head and silently seethed. That stubborn, difficult, thought she knew everything little brat, she'd never sit down again for pulling something like this. And if she thought he was apologizing, she had another thing coming…

Hermione ate in her room that night. Skipping her bath, she changed into pajamas and read a novel until a little before eleven, when she turned out her light and climbed under the covers. The bed seemed too big without Malfoy there, sprawling all over her and jabbing his sharp elbows into her sides as they slept. Well, he had to be a prat and tell his parents all sorts of things…everything would be better in the morning.

And in a roundabout way, it was. But, as goes the proverb, we must often cross through bitter waters before reaching sweet. And so did it go; when the nightmare hit, it was 3.17 AM.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tibby had been eating in the kitchen when the sounds began. She had a rather nice banana peel she'd been saving until it was a delicious, mushy brown, along with some fuzzy orange skin, and some damp, mildewed crackers. She had just tucked into the peel when one of her children moaned. Tibby put her food down and listened. They could be mating, she supposed; wizards and witches made all sorts of gruesome noises when mating.

Then it came again and she Apparated into Miss' room. "Is Miss being all right?"

Miss jumped out of bed and threw on a dressing gown. "That wasn't me, Tibby." She walked rapidly down the hall and opened young Master's door. Young Master was tangled in the sheets, thrashing, covered in perspiration. Miss sat quickly on the side of the bed and shook him, hard. "Draco? Draco, wake up! It's a nightmare, wake up!"

Young Master groaned again. "Tibby, go to Andromeda's and get his parents! Go!" Tibby DisApparated with a sharp pop, just as young Master's eyes opened.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco woke to see his mudblood sitting on the edge of his bed, white as a sheet. "Granger? Where'm'I?"

"We're at my house in Darlington, remember? It's all right, Draco, it was just a bad dream."

He sat up and disentangled the sheet from himself. His sleepiness faded quickly and he wrapped his arms about Hermione, needing to feel her warmth against him. She snuggled into his chest. "Want to tell me about it?"

"Shhhh, love. It's all right." He rocked her a little. It felt so good to hold his little girl and know she was safe. Not that he meant to admit he'd had anything as babyish as a nightmare, but it still felt good. "What's wrong, precious, did you have a scary dream?"

"No, you did. I heard you groaning."

"Are you sure? I think maybe my little girl _did _have a dream, and she came in to be comforted. I'm always glad to do that, aren't I? Shhhh, I've got you, love. It can't hurt you." He shook his head to clear it. Now that he was remembering, the images were coming back. Muggle women…children…screaming…blood on the walls, blood on the floor…he'd slid in it and Wormtail laughed at him…Greyback rutting as the muggle shrieked below him…Bellatrix…He clutched his mudblood tighter.

"Draco, it's nothing to be ashamed of. You just had a bad dream. That's very normal, given what we've both been through."

"I did _not_ have a nightmare, now put your head down." He rocked harder, determined that she should go to sleep. He had no intention of sleeping alone that night, no matter what his parents said, but neither would he admit to needing someone else to sleep.

Hermione stood and walked to the door. " I'm sorry you don't trust me enough to tell me the truth, Draco. I'll be in my room, you can just wait for your parents by yourself."

"No, wait. Granger, I—maybe I did have a bit of a nightmare." She came back in and sat down. He pulled her into his embrace. She relaxed, humming, and rubbed his back. "There, there, sweet, it was just a dream. What did you see?"

"I can't."

"Can't what?"

"Tell you. Please, Hermione, I just can't." He would have bitten his own tongue out before he soiled his little girl with the depravities he had been party to. He expected a battle, but she nodded and said softly "Tell your father, then?"

"Yes. You said they're coming?"

"They should be. I sent Tibby."

He kissed her. Hard, passionately, wanting to reaffirm that they were both alive and well, and to hell with the consequences. Hermione let him and slid back gently but firmly. "No, Draco. We need to talk first, and your parents will be here any second."

He sat back on his heels, hating that she was right. "Talk about what?"

"Tonight. Earlier."

He swallowed hard. "Granger, you have to understand, it all seemed very reasonable at the time."

"Hurting me might not have been your intention, Malfoy, but it happened, and you need to fix your mistake."

"I'm not telling them we had congress."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to apologize and explain to them that my parents were very good to me. Your mother won't listen when I do it."

"Granger, I regret this incident happened."

"Please, Draco?"

"Take it or leave it."

She rose to go. "I'll be in bed. Goodnight, Malfoy."

"No! You stay here!" Hermione felt bad for him, even as deeply cross with him as she was. He sounded afraid, and he'd doubtlessly seen awful things while serving the Dark Lord. But he'd been atrocious, and as much compassion as she felt for him, he had to learn to see things from other perspectives at least some of the time.

"Granger, damn it! I'm sorry! I was a prat! Come back?"

She did. "Thank you, Draco." She sat and hugged him hard. They sat like that a long moment, and then he gently lifted her chin. Her lashes were damp. "Dear God, your emotions make no sense at all. Why are you crying?"

She grinned a little. "I'm not, Malfoy. And I feel very touched that you apologized."

Draco blinked and pulled his little girl into his lap. "Well, I'm glad you feel better, but don't get used to it. I suppose this means we can't tell Mother and Father you had the nightmare and not me?"

She lightly swatted his arm. "Draco!"

"It was worth a try. Come on, we need to be down there before they come or there'll be hell to pay."

They'd been in the parlour less than thirty seconds when the Floo flared and Lucius stepped through, followed by his wife. They looked distinctly displeased.

"Scandalous. Imagine, they made us wait for approval to come over! 'Not an emergency', indeed. Darlings, what's wrong? Tibby was hysterical."

"Draco had a bad dream, that's all."

Draco looked away. "It wasn't very bad, Mother. I'm really all right."

Narcissa went to embrace her little boy, who was looking distinctly embarrassed. Lucius bent and murmured something in Hermione's ear and she immediately shook her head. "No, sir. I heard him moaning and went in to wake him, that's all. I was asleep by myself."

Hermione murmured something back and Lucius said "That's an excellent idea." She walked into the kitchen and ran water from the tap to the kettle, rattling things to give Draco a semblance of privacy with his parents.

"What did you dream about, Draco?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm all right, Mother, honestly. I don't want to talk about it." He gave Lucius a desperate look and his father, taking the cue, said "Draco, Hermione tells me she saw a mouse earlier. Have you seen anything?"

"No, Father."

"We should go and look anyway, wouldn't you say?" Draco nodded gratefully and they set off up the stairs. Narcissa went to find Hermione, determined to find out what happened.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Do you remember that raid He made me go on, with Wormtail, Greyback and Rabastan? Aunt Trixie and Uncle Rudolphus were there as well. In Kent?"

"Of course I do."

"I dreamed about it. It was—there was a family and they—the man begged me for death, begged me, and they kept making me cruciate him. And then Bellatrix, she took her hand and—he pleaded with her to stop, the women were his wife and daughter, and she, she just laughed and then she made him-- it went everywhere, it was awful. And Rudolphus just stood there and watched, and I realized he was, he was _touching _himself and they scolded me for not liking it."

Lucius put an arm around his son. "Shhhh, it's over now. They shan't ever hurt you again. All right, Draco, Father is here." Draco dropped his head to his father's shoulder and sniffled, fighting tears. Lucius rubbed his back, half whispering the comforting nonsense he'd been using to soothe the boy for almost twenty years.

"You were right not to tell the ladies, you know. They would have been very upset."

"Hermione was angry with me earlier."

"Was she?"

"She didn't like that I told you and Mother the things we talked about." Even in his current state, Draco was careful not to mention that Hermione had been angry about the lying, not the things he'd said.

"Why not?"

This one was harder. "She's afraid you and Mother think her parents were cruel to her." That was precisely what Mother thought and they both knew it, but one simply doesn't blurt those things out, does one? Lucius nodded.

"We understand she loves them, Draco. They probably even did their best, as much as muggles can with a magical child. But their attempts were less than adequate, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course I would. I've tried to explain, but…"

"Give her some time, Draco. You are both very young, though I'm sure you would disagree."

"No, Father."

"How was the problem resolved?"

"I, ah, rather apologized. I might have acted a bit of an ass about the whole thing."

"Mmm. Well, I daresay you've discovered one of the great truths of marriage, Draco."

"What's that?"

"That pride is not worth the price it demands in some instances. She accepted graciously?"

"She did."

"Then all is well."

Meanwhile, the women were enjoying their tea. As the men walked back down, they were surprised and pleased to hear feminine laughter. "He really did?"

"Mmm-hmm. I was beside myself. He'd fallen asleep under the chaise longue in the morning salon, if you can believe it. When we found him, he sat up and said 'What's wrong, Mother, don't you like hide and go seek?'"

Draco groaned. "Mother, please! No stories!"

"Now, Draco, Hermione asked about what you were like as a child, and I only feel it polite to tell her."

Hermione grinned. "I was right! You were a cute child."

He bent and spoke right in his mudblood's ear. "We'll see what's funny when I ask your parents about you, Granger. I'm going to ask about all the naughty things you did when you were young. Who knows, I may even tell them about the naughty things you do now."

Hermione blushed a bit. "I was never naughty."

Draco snorted and his parents both smiled. "Yes, and kneazles can fly."

"Maybe occaisionally."

"There was that time you stuck Goyle to the table fourth year. That was naughty."

She shook her head. " He threw a piece of buttered toast at Neville. I thought if his hands were stuck to the table top, he'd let us eat in pe—how do you know about that?"

"You get this look on your face whenever you're up to mischief. That, and the fact the others were too busy listening to Weasley and Finnegan argue about Quidditch to notice Longbottom's plight. He looked so pathetic, butter slowly running down the back of his head."

"It wasn't funny. And you didn't exactly unstick Goyle."

" Of course not. Then the great lummox would have followed me to Hogsmeade. I had plans that day, as I recall."

"Oh?" Lucius raised an eyebrow at his son, who looked away. He smirked at his wife, and Narcissa smirked back. They were both enjoying the children's banter, especially given how much fun they were obviously having.

" Yes, Father. Can't remember what, exactly, but I didn't want Crabbe and Goyle there." Draco most certainly did remember, but he wasn't about to admit he'd gotten a seventh year to buy him a bottle of firewhiskey, nor that he'd had exactly a quarter glass before getting violently ill.

"Hermione, I need to speak to Mother and Father. Would you mind stepping out?"

"I think I'll go and read in bed, if no one minds. Good night, Mother, Father."

"Good night, love. I'll be up in a moment to speak with you, all right?"

"Yes, Mother."

The Malfoys looked at their child. "Draco?"

"I promised her I'd tell Mother that her parents weren't bad by muggle standards, and now I have."

Lucius nodded. "Duly noted. Narcissa?"

"Indeed."

"Anything else?"

"Not really. I haven't told her yet about what we discussed."

"Mother and I spoke at length about it this afternoon. We've decided Mother will tell her." Lucius nodded to his wife, who nodded to their son. Draco looked both relieved and a little guilty. "It might come easier from me."

"Don't be absurd, Draco. She'll be very upset, and Mother will help her through it. Just this once, though, you may share her chamber. After the night you children have had, it might be a comfort to you both."

"It's going to be hard, when she finds out."

Lucius cupped his son's shoulder. "It is. Very. But Draco, this is what's best for everyone. Do you really think she'll be happier, having to worry about learning everything she needs to know, and then coming here and getting confused by their behaviors and attitudes?"

"No, Father. I just wish she weren't so damned sincere, that's all."

"It will be all right. Hermione will get used to us, and the muggles are safe in Australia. And we'll certainly make sure they have what they need. I just don't happen to think they need a magical child, do you?"

"She says they never minded she was magical."

Narcissa, who'd been having a discrete word with Tibby while her husband handled the issue, stepped in. "It's so sweet you want to spare her, precious, but do you believe her what she says about her parents?"

"I think she believes it."

"Yes, of course. But you've see her clothes and the way she stiffens when we touch her. Does that strike you as normal?"

"No, Mother. I think you and Father are right, ultimately, but she was very insistent that I speak to you."

Narcissa smiled, pleased that Draco had fulfilled his obligation in such a way as to make sure they understood his meaning. "Do you really think none of it was due to her being magical?"

Draco considered. "If she'd been a muggle, they probably would have watched her better."

"That's right. They would have trained her rather than letting her go her own way. Not all abuse is bruises and welts, Draco." Narcissa took a deep breath and drank some tea, meaning to go and speak to Hermione as soon as they were done. Lucius, steepling his fingers, addressed his son again.

"What will happen when she falls pregnant, Draco? She'll want to come here for her confinement if her parents are back. Do you think they have adequate knowledge of what a witch needs when pregnant? They'll let her eat all sorts of things, and take too much exercise, and read whatever she likes, and then the child will be a squib."

"I know. I just hate upsetting her."

"Of course you do. Do you think Mother and I enjoyed making you take potions when you were young?"

"No, Father."

Tibby Apparated into the kitchen with a small phial of something in its hand. Mother stood, taking it, and made for the stairs. Draco went still. Lucius turned to Draco, meaning to distract him from what he was sure would be unpleasantness. "You really were an appalling child, you know."

Draco smiled a little. He normally loved it when Father teased him, but tonight it felt like an effort to react. Mother would take very good care of Hermione, but he wanted to go and check on her personally. "I don't remember it that way. I remember being a very good boy."

Lucius snorted. "Mmm, you and Hermione both."

"Touche, Father."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione heard Narcissa's shoes squeaking on the stairs. Putting her book down, she sat up, waiting. Narcissa came and sat on the side of her bed. She held out the phial. "Drink this for me."

"What is it?"

Narcissa frowned just a little. "Something to help you feel better, now obey me, please." Hermione uncorked it and swallowed, grimacing a little. As soon as it was done, she felt the most wonderful relaxation sweep over her. 'Calming draught' her mind murmured, but her mind was easy to ignore, floating on this cloud of potion. Narcissa gently took her hand and chafed it in her own.

"Darling, Father and I were talking this afternoon. We know how very much you want to find your parents, but we think it best to wait a little while."

"Wait? Why?"

"Well, there are still lots of Death Eaters about, aren't there? And we could only do so much."

"The Ministry--"

"Will do nothing to defend a family allied to two former Death Eaters. They haven't treated you all that wel like it is, precious, and you're a war hero. Do you think marrying a Malfoy will improve the situation?"

Hermione fought the encroachment of the potion in her veins. "They could stay here."

"They could, but how could we keep them safe? You can't watch them every second."

Hermione blinked. What Narcissa was saying made sense, from a certain point of view. "But Mother, I promised I'd come for them."

"We promised too, my love. We promised to have them found and we shall, but couldn't we wait until a few more of my husband's former colleagues have been apprehended? Not all of them, of course, not the soldiers, but the top enforcers, at least. I know how innocent you are of these things, Hermione, but a –person—like Greyback would not hesitate to make an example of them in order to hurt Lucius and Draco through you."

Hermione nodded. "That makes sense."

Narcissa scooted closer. "Come here, precious. It's all right." She was past expecting a normal reaction, but she wished with all her heart that Hermione would let herself express what she was feeling. All this keeping emotions in had to be terrible for the girl's health. She put both arms around her daughter in law and held her for a moment.

"Father and I want to fill the gap as much as possible, dearest. So if you feel sad, or frightened, or you'd like to be held, you must tell us at once, like a good girl. Even if it's very late at night, you wont be bothering us. Do you promise?" Narcissa wondered whether Hermione understood the sacredness of a person's word. A woman's word was not as sacred as a man's, of course, but between women it was a near thing.

"Yes, Mother."

"There's the girl. Lie back now. I think we'll have Draco come and tuck you in. Won't that be nice?"

Hermione nodded. The potion was making coherent thought difficult. Narcissa spent a little time smoothing her hair, just comforting her. "I'm so proud of you, darling. You were very good to call us, and Draco's told us how brave you are. Father and I are very pleased with you."

"Thank you, Mother." Narcissa gave Hermione a kiss on the forehead. "Goodnight, love."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco crept up the stairs and opened the door. Granger was lying on her side, apparently asleep, and Draco felt a cowardly sense of relief. Then she stirred and he approached the bed much as his mother had done.

"Granger? Hermione?"

"H'lo."

"Darling, are you—how do you feel?"

Granger rolled over. Her face was smooth and pale. "I've really been very selfish, I suppose, wanting them back when things are this bad."

Draco winced as a huge blade of not-guilt lodged in his sternum. "No, love, you haven't. Anyone would want them back."

"She was right, though. It's too dangerous for them, and the Ministry's proven how damned useless it is too many times to count. I guess I need to do a bit of growing up."

Stab. Stab. "Come here, Hermione." Draco found himself wishing she'd cry. Bawl. Wail, even. That he could fix, or at least help. This he couldn't. She was swallowing her feelings and making herself do what was best for others. Just like he had thrown at Potter that time, wasn't it?

"I'm all right, Draco."

"Hush. I'm going to hold you good and close until you fall asleep. When little girls have sad feelings, they need lots of love and cuddling, so they know very, very safe and cherished they are, don't they?"

"I don't really feel anything right now. Numb. I think it's the potion."

Twisting in his chest, his stomach. "I've got you, Hermione. Nothing can hurt you when you're like this. I'm not going to leave you, not for anything in the world. I'm going to stay right here as long as my little girl needs." He rocked, wanting her to do something besides continue in that eerily calm, composed way. After a moment, Hermione blinked and put her head down on his shoulder.

"That's my girl. Are you sure you don't need a cry? I'll hold you the whole time, I promise."

"Not tonight. I just feel blank." Hermione rested against Draco, breathing deeply, and after a few minutes she'd gone limp. He carefully maneuvered them into the bed. Even if Father hadn't given permission, he would have taken the smacking to be with her tonight. Between his desire not to be alone and her fragile emotional state…he was glad Mother had given her the potion, but he wished he'd been there all the same.

Not that he felt bad, of course. It was all for the best. By this time next year, Hermione would feel so loved and happy that she'd hardly think about her parents at all. Everything would be fine.

Draco Malfoy didn't feel guilt. Guilt was for inferior people. But he'd felt something, looking at Hermione's stricken face, and my God, was it ever awful.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Love to all reviewers**

**Countess Black has once again proved herself invaluable. I couldn't thank her enough if I tried.**

**This is a two-parter, because I was feeling mischievious. and Hermione's not the only one who can get into trouble if left alone for too long :)**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Unlike Draco, Narcissa Malfoy had not the slightest problem with what had been done to Hermione. She returned to Andromeda's with her husband. Andromeda was awake, and they exchanged pleasantries as Lemmy fed Teddy and Andromeda rocked him to sleep. He was a finicky eater, just as Draco had been.

She and Lucius retired to bed. In the dark, he rolled to clasp her to him. Narcissa smiled and moved in a way that suggested subtly that she was receptive to his needs, should he wish to relieve them. After nearly twenty five years, these things had a rhythm all their own, and the two of them moved in perfect concert. After, he apologized as he always did for bothering her and she graciously pretended not to mind.

"Do you suppose they'll be all right?"

"The children? Yes, of course."

Like his wife, Lucius was untroubled by the underhanded means of securing the mudblood's consent. He worried rather more about Draco; Granger was clearly trying hard to help, but how could a woman know how to react to that kind of problem? Oh, no doubt she'd seen some frightful things—hadn't they all?—but it wasn't as though Draco could talk to her about all this, could he?

Strange as it sounds, a sort of culturally sanctioned amnesia had come over both Malfoy parents. Having given their word they'd accept Hermione as their daughter in law, they were now obliged to treat her like their own, and, in their minds, a kind of alchemy had taken place. Where once was a filthy, ancestorless mudblood, now was, or soon would be, a Malfoy.

Because of that, they ascribed to her all the characteristics of a Pureblood lady; gentleness, sensitivity, a disposition too fragile to deal with the harsh world. In fact, had Lucius discovered Draco had shared any of the horrors of his dreams with Hermione, he would have been absolutely furious and probably punished his son quite severely. Hermione was simply too delicate to tolerate hearing those things without some detriment to her health, just as Narcissa was. Women were to be cherished and cared for, not subjected to the weaknesses of those whose sacred mission it was to preserve their childlike innocence and frailty.

He held his wife closer. "We must expect these things, after the year we've had."

Narcissa snuggled into his shoulder. "Did he tell you what it was about?"

"The raid in Novemeber. With your sister and that damned werewolf."

Lucius considered that Bellatrix was the vindication of every theory about females he'd ever read. Her lack of reason had led to her all consuming devotion to the Dark Lord, which had caused her to become…well, Bellatrix.

If he was her husband, he would have corrected her the very first time she showed such an unwomanly inclination to start with. But, given Rudolphus'…tastes…it was unsurprising he'd preferred his wife distracted by her mania.

"That's unfortunate."

"Indeed. He should be fine. I gave him permission to share her bed tonight. They need one another."

His wife responded with the kind of loaded silence all married people know and fear. After a second, Narcissa said thoughtfully "Do you expect she understands?"

"Understands what?"

"About her marital duties ? To him?"

"He did ruin her, Cissy."

"I can't imagine she was fully awake. He must have given her a mild sedative or memory charmed her. And it was only that once, anyway."

Lucius considered. "An excellent point, my dear. Perhaps have a word with her?"

"I wonder what the muggle ideas that so upset Draco were?"

"I daresay we'll find out soon enough."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

All the same, when Narcissa stepped through the Floo, she anticipated a rough few days. The girl would be very upset, possible hysterical. It was good Draco was disinclined to humour her; it would make everyone's lives so much easier.

Imagine her surprise when, expecting something between a crying jag and finding the girl prostrate with grief, she found her dusting the bookshelves with a rag, clad in hideous muggle trousers and an old t-shirt. The girl's hair was frizzing every which way, and her feet were actually bare.

Hearing the Floo, Hermione jumped. She very nearly dropped the rag. When she saw it was Narcissa, she relaxed and stayed the hand that had been going for her wand. "Good morning, Mother."

Narcissa walked to where Hermione was standing and gently turned her to the side, holding her arm. As soon as she'd turned, Narcissa gave her a single hard smack on the backside, causing her to gasp and stiffen. It didn't really hurt, but she hadn't expected it, nor the hug that came right after.

"Hermione, love, are you supposed to be doing housework?"

"No, Mother, but I--"

"Who is to do these things?"

"Tibby, but--"

"No buts. I want you to go and change and then come back down with your hairbrush."

"Yes, Mother." Draco smirked at his mudblood as he walked out of the kitchen. 'Told you so' he mouthed, grinning. He loved being right, and he'd told Granger, hadn't he, that she ought to be resting? Narcissa turned to her son and gave him a Look.

"Why was Hermione doing house elf work, Draco?"

Draco crossed to his mother's side. "She's trying to keep busy, Mother."

"Keep busy?"

He lowered his voice. "After last night."

Narcissa still didn't understand. "I'm not sure I heard you correctly, Draco. You're saying Hermione is doing housework because of our talk last night?"

He shrugged. "I don't understand it either, Mother. She said she'd been selfish wanting them back, and she had to be an adult about it. When she woke up this morning, she asked Tibby to strip the beds and wash the sheets and started dusting. Something about channeling her energy into constructive pursuits."

Narcissa slowly shook her head. This was the last thing she'd expected, and frankly, it made her skin crawl a little. "What about her mood?"

"She's been …quiet. It's never good when Granger's quiet."

"Has she been crying?"

"Not that I know of. She's trying to keep a happy face, I think." Draco murmured something about needing to use the lavatory and made a hasty retreat to the stairs. He had absolutely no interest in the feminine go-ings on, and he dreaded being pulled into wedding planning or, worse, listening to stories about himself as a child. One of the few negative aspects of what he had dubbed 'the Plan' was the paucity of parental embarrassment for Granger. Life is just so awfully, dreadfully unfair some days.

Narcissa wished Lucius was here. Between the two of them, he was the one who'd succeeded in coaxing normal affection from the girl, albeit briefly. Perhaps he could have got a more normal emotional response as well, but he was testifying in from of some sub committee about Death Eater activity in the Ministry.

Clad in another hideous jumper—this one was a deep maroon—and baggy skirt, Hermione came back, holding the brush and a small jar of hair pins. She sat back down on the couch, forcing herself to relax as Narcissa came over, took the brush and began to do her hair.

"Dear, did your Mother ever explain about what happens once you're married?"

"What do you mean?"

Narcissa tried to phrase everything in a way that wouldn't scare the poor thing half to death. "That night my son had his way with you…you understand you'll be expected to do that again, don't you?"

Hermione blinked. "Yes, of course." Draco, unfortunately for him, had chosen that exact moment to come back downstairs. He'd overheard enough to have a good idea of what Mother was doing, and he quite anticipated enjoying the moment.

"Mother, Draco and I were sharing a bed."

"Of course you were. But since he says all you did was sleep, I wanted to make sure you understand there's more to it than that."

Draco's mudblood had gone pink. He swallowed a laugh and nodded solemnly. "Perhaps you'd best explain it, Mother. Hermione's just so modest and innocent…" His little girl was clearly dying to retort but, because Narcissa was there, all she could do was writhe. Not that he wasn't, at some level, sincere, but really, this was simply too good to pass up.

Draco had never encountered the muggle phrase 'hoisted on one's one petard'. It wouldn't have dissuaded him particularly if he had. All the same, things seemed to be progressing just right at first. Narcissa nodded gravely and began gently plying the brush, carefully easing the tangles out, calling for Tibby to go to Andromeda's to borrow oil to smooth Hermione's hair.

"Now, my darling, men are sometimes subject to urges. Because of that, my son will expect you to-- yield your person-- to him every so often." Draco bit his tongue to keep from laughing. Granger was almost purple, though with embarrassment or anger he couldn't say.

None of this seemed at all to contradict the gentle feelings he'd had for her—was still having—that morning. His mudblood had wanted a distraction and now she had one. As for him, he was simply appreciating the man layers of irony in this situation, at least until his descent into hell, for just then, Narcissa turned to her dear baby and said "Sit down, Draco. We may as well get this over with."

"M-mother?"

"It was only the once, precious. I'm not sure you understand it as well as you'd like to."

"Don't ladies usually do this amongst themselves?"

"Normally, but given the strange circumstances, this might be for the best."

"But surely Father--"

"Sit down, darling."

He did. 'I shall just pretend not to hear, is all. Yes, that's what I'll do. Pretend I'm elsewhere.' Then the _real_ horror began. It wasn't that Draco was uncomfortable with the subject matter, but Mother had no business even knowing about these things, let along talking about them. Much more comforting to imagine he and Granger were the first to discover this particular thing.

"And so all you need do is lie very still and think of something else, and in a few moments it will be done." Narcissa smiled and patted Hermione's shoulder.

"It sounds must worst than it is, I promise. Do you have any questions?"

"No, Mother."

"There's a brave girl. Draco, what about you, love?"

Her son was green. "N-no, Mother."

"If it helps, darling, just remember the pretty little baby you'll have. Nothing good without struggle, isn't that right?"

They both gave the correct answer and Narcissa lightly tapped Hermione's neck with one long, varnished nail. "Love, didn't your mother ever explain any of this?"

"She did. Muggles tend to think of these things differently."

"Oh? How so?"

Draco swallowed drily and waited for the disaster to commence.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Lucius Malfoy thought he had come off rather well in the hearing. Rising, he politely bid farewell to those around him and walked from the chamber. It had been far too hot in the room, and he wanted a shower at Andromeda's before he joined Narcissa in Darlington with the children.

A harried looking clerk bustled up. "Lucius Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"This came for you." The man handed him a letter and strode off without another word, a far cry from the time when he would have fallen over himself bowing. Lucius rolled his eyes and slit the seal with a fingernail. It was from his wife, who seemed to think he needed to come right away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When he came through a few minutes later, he saw his son, clearly waiting for him. The mud—Hermione—was beside him, and Narcissa was standing behind them both. She smiled and gently propelled the children to the divan. "Father and I must talk."

The second the adults were out of sight, Hermione put her mouth right to Draco's ear. "Have you no shame at all?"

"None. Come on, Granger, the last ten minutes have been punishment enough. Surely that soft Gryffindor heart wouldn't want to disappoint Mother and Father, not to mention the trouble I'd get in."

Hermione tried to look cross. "You're terrible, just terrible. If I did a thing like that--"

"I'd whack you until you didn't sit for a month, I know. But Hermione, it was _Mother_. I just couldn't tell her."

"You owe me for this, Malfoy. I think a nice backrub might even the score."

Draco got very still. "Why—you-- little --brat, I can't believe—I ought to—jolly good." He laughed and embraced his little girl, who looked entirely too pleased with herself. He simply couldn't be stern with her after something like that. "That was very good, precious. My little girl is learning guile, isn't she?" He kissed the top of her head and grinned, relieved she was acting more normal.

Someone cleared their throat and the two teenagers sprang apart like they'd been burned. Lucius gestured for Draco to follow him up the stairs and Draco followed, worrying he was in trouble. Narcissa sat down in Draco's place and, sighing, began part two of the Plan.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"No, you aren't in trouble. Just thought we'd give the ladies a little time to themselves. Mother was quite disturbed by some of what Hermione said, and she wanted to ask privately. And anyway, it's been some time since you and I just sat and talked."

"Rather wish you'd got here a little earlier, Father. It was awful."

Lucius smirked and shook his head. "Draco, it can't have been that bad. You did ruin the girl, did you not?"

"Yes, I know, but—Mother? It isn't right."

"Mother and I were young once, just as you and Hermione are. I remember we--"

Draco held up a hand. "Father, please! Couldn't you just smack me or something?"

"Pardon?"

"It can't be any worse than hearing one's parents speak about this."

Put that way, Lucius couldn't control his laughter. "I sorry it disturbed you, Draco. Mother simply wanted to be sure you both understood, that's all."

Draco smirked. "Granger went red as strawberries. It was almost worth it."

"Mmm, I imagine. You two were having a very good time when I came in. Is that how you always are?"

"Mostly. We argue, sometimes."

"All married people do. As long as the good outweighs the bad…Draco, I do not like to speak about the aftermath of that…unpleasantness at the Ministry, but I will tell you this: of all the things that happened that year, do you know the worst?"

"No, Father."

"Missing Mother and yourself. I would have given everything I had in the whole world to see her smile once more, or to have heard you laugh." Draco looked away, embarrassed by his father's unusual sentimentality and not sure how to react.

"How did you feel that year you and Hermione were apart?"

"Afraid. Not like I ought to have been, but I really thought He would…stupid. Snape tried to warn me."

Luciu clasped his son's shoulder. "You're young, Draco. We all make mistakes. Though I must say, had I known how you were occupying yourself in my absence…"

Draco squirmed. "I thought it would serve the Cause."

"I'm not scolding you, Draco. Only remarking on the vagaries of fate." They sat and chatted, well content to known their women were safe below, for quite some time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The more time Narcissa spent with Hermione, the more she wanted the girl's parents found. Not for Hermione, precisely, though that was part of it; mainly, she wanted to hex them for a while to express her displeasure with what passed for parenting in the muggle world.

The girl herself was suspiciously well. Given the talk they'd had the night before, and the nature of that day's discussion. Narcissa would have felt better had Hermione been a little less…sanguine. Really, would a small fit if tears have been too much to ask?

On the contrary, the child was almost painfully cheerful and clearheaded. She was completely open to Narcissa's ideas about the wedding, she professed to be unafraid at the idea of marital intimacy, and she even claimed to be fine with waiting to search for her parents.

It seemed to Narcissa a simple matter of the inappropriate, headstrong independence Hermione persisted in showing. She ought to have been a wailing, sob mess precisely because it was not for her to spare them. They cared for her, after all. Hermione ought to trusted them enough to get completely hysterical so they could give comfort.

In service to this, Narcissa sat back and asked Hermione to put her head in her lap. Hermione, clearly uncomfortable, did just that. At least she was learning to relax a little. Narcissa carded her fingers through the girl's hair, trying to make her feel calm and safe for this next part, which would be difficult for all of them.

"Darling, are you quite sure you don't want to talk about last night?"

"I'm sure, Mother."

"Because Father and I would be very upset if we thought you didn't trust us. You do trust us, don't you, darling?"

"Yes, of course I do. But I was thinking about it, and really, you were right."

"Of course I was, precious, but I find it rather hard to believe that you're as happy as you say you are."

Hermione could tell this was going somewhere, and her skin tingled a little in warning. She made herself slowly count to ten.

"I'm not happy. But I think we have a choice in things, and so I'm not going to be miserable about it."

Narcissa felt a little admiration despite herself. She found the whole notion as stupid and muggle as anything the girl had ever said, but bless her if she didn't seem resolved in it.

"That's all well and good, but the rest of us are quite worried. It isn't normal, dearest. You aren't meant to hold feelings inside like this. Like opening the floo of a chimney, do you see?"

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from laughing as she recalled what else she had heard compared that way. "I'm not a crier, Mother. I never have been."

Narcissa didn't reply right away. Taking the afghan off the back of the divan, she covered the girl up and spent a little time just holding her head. "Dearest, every woman is a crier. Nature made us that way."

"I'm sorry, Mother. I just can't right now."

Narcissa patted her cheek. "I'm not angry, love. But we need to deal with this."

Hermione said nothing, only lay very still as Narcissa fussed over her. She really didn't want to talk about it. She'd been consciously avoiding the issue all day, and Draco had been very willing to indulge her in that to avoid messy emotional issues.

Narcissa huffed, very like Draco. She spent another minute giving the child affection, concerned that she not feel abandoned, and then an idea came to her. "Darling, I shall call Father, and you might speak to him about it." There was no sense of question or suggestion in either tone or words; Hermione was going to tell someone about her feelings and go totally to pieces and that was that. Standing, Narcissa called up the stairs. Lucius appeared at the top, eyebrow raised, and after a quick, whispered conference, the adults switched places.

Hermione and Lucius stared at one another uncomfortably. Hermione had sat up and taken her afghan off, and hands in her lap, she struggled to find a way to politely convey the fact she simply wasn't as terribly upset as Narcissa seemed to think.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Father?"

"Mother thinks your lack of sentiment is a sign you don't trust us. I presume she is mistaken?"

"Yes, sir. I simply gave the matter some thought and' Hermione shrugged ' she was quite right. The Ministry hasn't been the slightest help, and I can't be with them every single instant. I mean, even the office in town might not be safe, let along places like London. They can't live trapped here forever."

Lucius eyed the girl. She seemed sincere and quite calm about the whole thing. Almost despite himself, he was starting to like Granger. She was a tough, resourceful girl who seemed blessedly free of the usual feminine games and silliness.

He dropped his voice and murmured right in Hermione's ear. "Mother shan't give you a second's peace until you've cried and one of us has comforted you. Why don't you make it easy on yourself and cry a bit, hmmm?"

"I can't."

"Can't?"

"Not unless I mean it." Hermione took a deep breath and sat up very straight. Lucius chuckled softly at her apparent seriousness and spoke again.

"Surely there's something? Some bit of verse or children's story that makes you tear up?"

"It's all upstairs."

He swallowed an improper exclaimation and sighed. "No chance, then?"

"Sorry."

Lucius toyed briefly with the idea of breaking her—trying to break her—verbally. He could probably do it; had done it to others often enough in the past, and surely under her calm exterior, she was in some kind of pain.

He found himself strangely disinclined. More interesting to watch it play out. His wife would have her way in the end, almost certainly. But he would enjoy watching the mu—Gr—Hermione's attempts to evade Narcissa, and the girl would learn a lesson.

"All right, my dear. I'm not cross with you. Mother will be vexed, however. She will likely wish to continue this tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

Touching her was less distasteful this time. He patted her back for a moment and called his wife. Narcissa looked as displeased as he thought she might, but he shrugged it off. There was only so much he could do, after all. Draco had followed Narcissa down, and the Malfoys kissed both children, made Hermione swear anew that she'd call for them the second she needed them, and left.

Draco sat on the divan with a sigh and summoned the latest muggle book he'd been reading. Hermione sat beside him, deep in thought. Nothing, she reflected ruefully, is ever quite as we assume it to be. She knew Malfoy was waiting for her to say something.

"Draco?"

"Hmmmm?"

"Can I—may I—sit in your lap?" Hermione blushed and tried to ignore how silly she felt. There was nothing wrong with admitting to needing affection, she told herself sternly. Draco put the paperback down and patted his leg. "Of course you can, my darling."

Hermione climbed on and he wrapped his arms around her. Granger never initiated affection. Not that he wasn't very pleased—he adored cuddling his mudblood, and it was an excellent sign that she felt safe enough to ask for what she needed from him—but it drove home that something was wrong. Draco flashed on her papery, still face from the night before and felt something squirming in his guts.

"You're really scaring Mother."

"Not on purpose."

"Of course not. Mother has got very fond of you, and it's quite worrying her that you're so blasé about all this."

"This is how I am, Draco. You know that."

"I also happen to know a little girl who keeps her feelings inside and pretends nothing is wrong until she makes herself half sick. Do you know anyone like that?"

Hermione snuggled into his shoulder silently. "Granger? I asked you a question."

She took a deep breath. "I'm not, though. I would have thought you'd want me to agree with your parents, Malfoy."

"Of course I do, but I won't have you hurting yourself, and neither will they. You watch, Mother'll be at you until you break down."

"Unless you take care of it."

"Sorry?"

"Help me, Draco, please?"


	30. Chapter 30

**_"To whom it may concern:  
In light of recent events, I have decided to write the preface to this chapter in lieu of the muggle woman who generally does so. Firstly, she asks that I thank all the muggles who owled replies to the previous chapter and express her gratitude to them ( I shan't use  
'love' as she told me to, as I feel this connotes a familiarity I cannot in good faith endorse).  
Second, to give especial gratitude to Countess Black, for her continued help and support. As the discerning reader is not doubt  
aware, the efforts of one person (particularly a woman, even a lady, which the author will perhaps someday be if she tries) are simply not sufficient. The efforts of two are better, and if I or my son have in some way aided them both, I wouldn't be so boorish as to say so.  
Do leave a review, won't you?  
Yours,  
Lucius Malfoy_**

** NB: Having foolishly accepted the elder Malfoy's offer of a game of Exploding Snap, this was the result. He doesn't bother to credit the lines in the text, so I'm offering fifty housepoints and a chocolate frog to whomever can name the work it's taken from.**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco listened to what she had to say, nodding along occasionally. He was only half attentive; the conflict inside him was occupying much more of his energy. He'd always been good at compartmentalizing his feelings and experiences. Certain emotions and reactions just weren't appropriate at certain times, that was all.

Which didn't make it any easier to reconcile the erection he had developed, listening to his mudblood talk about it and his sense of unease about her proposed course of action. He wanted her to react without what she was suggesting. He could deal with anything except watching her sacrifice herself this way. How in hell could she stand it?

If it had been him, he would have yelled and complained and fussed until they gave in and found the damned muggles to shut him up. But Granger wasn't like that, was she? That was what he loved about her, and now he had to live with that horribly pierced feeling each time she said something brave and calm and selfless.

Hermione snuggled into Draco's shoulder, nuzzling at his neck.. It never failed to shock her how safe Malfoy's mere presence could make her feel. Her head drifted down to pillow on his jaggedly bony shoulder, and she sighed from the soul. She'd meant what she told him, but at the same time…

Draco shifted. He was almost painfully hard. His bodily urges aside, he was deeply proud Hermione had asked him for what she needed. That was a huge step, and he found it very erotic as well. He'd often entertained a fantasy that she would come to him and confess some wrong doing, show him just how much she needed the pain and pleasurehe freely gave her, beg him to control and discipline her.

And now she had, but it didn't feel right. This wasn't some minor, naughty misbehavior she wanted him to correct because she trusted him to help her become a better person; she was asking for help in suppressing emotions she needed to vent.

"Darling, I've told you before I shan't make you cry for no reason."

"It isn't for no reason. Your mother's explained why bringing them back is a bad idea and I happen to agree, don't you?"

He fought the urge to cringe. Oh, his soul was throbbing, torn between loyalty and love for Mother and Father and the earnest, sweet little girl cuddled into his chest. He made himself nod, swallowing hard and said with only a little catch in his voice "Of course I do, dearest."

"And a year isn't so long, is it? We can spend some time fixing up some of the little things Dad never got around to, like that squeaky board in the hall." She made herself picture how happy they would all be when they were reunited, and not the vast, empty stretch of time without them, the fact they wouldn't see her wedding.

'Yes' he wanted to say, 'it is. It's an eternity, and the not knowing will make you want to go insane. Aren't you afraid they've already found them? Well, aren't you? They could be dead while you sit here talking about carpentry, for God's sake." He was startled by a huge burst of resentment and anger that uncoiled in his chest. Why should he have to deal with this atop anything else?

He swallowed hard and held her closer. As quickly as it came on him, his resentment faded, replaced by that surge of painful, negative emotion from the night before. His little girl was trying so hard to do what was best for them, misguided though

her efforts were; didn't he have an equal obligation to do what was best for her, even if it made him want to cry?

"You understand the rules still apply? I decide how and when it's done."

"Yes, sir." She looked down, cheeks pink, and that decided him. He shoved the moral quandary he was fighting with into the room in his mind he'd years ago marked 'later' and, as he often did, resolved not to worry about it. He was, after all, newly turned eighteen, and the woman on his lap was soft and fragrant and warm. And his. This proved, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Granger was his utterly.

He cuddled her another minute and then set her to her feet and stood himself. Seizing her ear, he tugged her to the stairs. They walked up normally, of course, but the second they were both on thelanding he got a hold on her again, slapping her bottom as they

walked.

Draco led her to the bed and motioned for her to sit. Hermione was bright pink, not having anticipated the abrupt change. He stood in front of her and then crouched so they were eye level. Took her chin, let her squirm a minute against him. "Hermione Jane, you have been a very naughty little girl. No, don't argue. You know better than to slap, do you not?"

Hermione blinked. "Pardon?"

"A certain little girl had quite a fit at Malfoy manor, did she not?

She slapped me and was awfully naughty."

Hermione dropped her eyes, stomach squirming inside her. "Y'sir. Sorry, sir."

"Not like you will be. A hard whacking and some time in the corner is just what you need, and I'll certainly see you get it tonight. You'll be a very contrite little girl by the time I'm done. For right now, you're in time out, because I think you need a good long time to reflect. You may look at your books quietly, but you may not get up to play or make a fuss, understand?"

Hermione went even pinker and gave Malfoy a look. He ignored it. It had been a long time since they'd done it this way, and despite his trepidations, he was having fun. She nodded and murmured an affirmative, and Draco spent a moment selecting a few books for her to look at. He set them down at the edge of the bed and put the badger

down as well, and then, getting a pair of pajamas from the drawer, helped her into them. He kissed the top of her head as he stood to leave. "If you need anything, call Tibby."

Draco decided to write a letter while they waited. He'd write

Father and tell him all about his feelings. Father would know how to resolve this problem, surely. He wondered if it was this way for his parents when he'd been bad when he was young.

Despite his protests to Lucius, he knew he'd been a difficult child. Even at his very worst, Draco had never for a second doubted Mother and Father loved him. That was what he wanted for Granger; the certainty that love would win over every other emotion, no matter what.

Which made this no easier. He found himself almost missing the clarity of their early relationship. Hatred is easy to parse; love is protean, changing every day, every minute, every hour. It is a kind of miracle that it sustains itself at all, between any two of those ludicrous creatures called humans beings; moreso when it survives the things that ought to grind the human spirit to powder.

War, death, illness, betrayals, the slow constant grind of day to day living; these things ought to break our backs and our souls, but they…don't, not always. Rather we mature, and are better for the change, and if we are fortunate, our love grows with us, like our very bones.

Draco didn't understand that, yet, but comprehension was dawning. He understood that real love is sacrifice and struggle and sitting silently with someone to share their pain and their despair, their small triumphs, and he accepted it. He would do his duty by Granger.

He wanted to and he didn't want to; his appetites had given them the means, but their will to love and survive would carry them through this.

He sat up straighter and ordered Tibby to bring Miss a bowl of porridge on a tray, along with a small glass of milk and a cut up banana, children's food. A thing which is not worth doing well is not worth doing at all, and he resolved to make the night as memorably terrible as he could.

He himself ate only a cup of soup and some bread. Forced himself to wait an hour, wanting everything settled in her stomach. He wrote the letter to Mother instead, just expressing his love for she and Father, because he knew it would make them happy, and he understood now how complex some things really are. There's many kinds of duty, and many kinds of love.

Finally it was time. He made himself go up the stairs slowly, making sure Hermione would hear his shoes. He opened the door, squeaking it on purpose, and looking stern rather than smiling when she jumped.

He sat down on the bed and took the book from her hand. "I think you know your behavior was not acceptable, Hermione Jane. What happens to my little girl when she's naughty?"

Hermione looked at her shoes. "A smacking, sir."

"She gets her knickers pulled down and then right across my lap for a hot bottom, doesn't she? And no matter how much she kicks and howls and cries, she has to lay there and get smacked until I think she's sore and contrite. Isn't that right, Hermione?"

Her voice had dropped to a whisper. "Yes, sir."

He lifted her gently from the bed and stood her between his legs, tugging her pajama trousers to her knees. Without being told, she lay down across his leg, body on the upper bed. He used the other leg to trap hers and, grasping both her hands in his, began.

Hermione didn't even try to fight the pain. She wriggled, gasping and sniffling, as Draco smacked her fast and hard, paying particular attention to her sit spots. He stopped long enough to move her forward just a little and spent thirty seconds on each thigh, provoking a loud "OWWW! STOPPLEASE!"

"There, you bad, disobedient little girl, see what you get when you're naughty? Fancy you won't do a thing like that ever again, will you?"

"OWW! NOSIR! OWWWPLEASE!"

It felt so very good not to have to worry. He cared enough to help her, and that was enough. Her worries, her pain and guilt, her uncertainty and discomfort with the Malfoys…the floodgates opened and she let them. Hermione gasped and then went limp.

"Shhh, just breathe. I'm here, precious, shhhhh." They spent a few minutes like that, just sitting still as he rubbed her back and her sobs faded to moans and then whimpers. Hermione wasn't the only one who'd forgot herself in the moment; now that the moment was over, Draco was dismayed to feel his ambivalence creeping back. Not his resentment, thankfully, but this was a good deal less erotic than he might have liked.

"All right, darling. Go and find me a bedroom slipper to use on you. Is there one here?" She shook her head. He pulled her trousers back into position and slowly eased her up. "Go and get a spoon, then, and we'll transfigure it. There's a love." Hermione whined slightly but started to move, turning back to try and talk her way out of her slippering. Malfoy gave her a smirk. "Go on, little girl."

She brought the damned thing back, frowning darkly. She hated having to fetch things herself and he knew it. She'd known when she asked that giving Malfoy carte blanche was risky at best. It was better than being hounded to cry by his mother, and she was glad for the help, Heaven knew, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

Malfoy took the spoon and set it beside himself on the bed. He motioned her closer and patted the bed beside himself. Surprised, she sat, yelping, and he scooted next to her and cupped her chin in his hand.

"Now, little madam, you were quite naughty that night, weren't you?"

"I suppose I was, sir."

" I think you know how I deal with that. '

"Yes, sir." She stood and took her pajama trousers down without being told, and lay over his lap, folding her hands at the small of her back.

"Very good, Hermione. What a brave girl we are today."

Draco patted her back and just held her a moment. It was the strangest thing. As long as he was focused on Granger, he didn't hav eto think about it. The second the punishment was done, that negative feeling was poking him again.

**THWACK THWACK THWACK**

"Owwww!"

"My little girl was awfully brave, wasn't she, telling me what she needed?"

"Owwwww!Please!"

"But she was also very naughty at Malfoy manor. She slapped rather

than using her words like a big girl, didn't she? Can't have that."

"Pleasesirithurts!"

"I hate seeing my little girl upset and not knowing why. Makes me

grumpy. It's bad for you when I'm grumpy."

"OWW!"

"So next time she'll be a good little girl and use her words, won't

she? Or else she'll get smacked again but even longer and harder, and

we don't want that. Do we?"

"OWWW! NOSIR!"

He stopped and rested a hand on her back. "There now, that wasn't so bad."

"F-for whom?"

He laughed, pulled his pillows down and mounded them, then moved one of her pillows to head height. Lifting her, he set her so her hips were elevated on the pillows and her head resting on the single pillow above. She tried to roll over but he held her down.

"No no, you're in time out again."

"Malfoy! You can't leave me here like this!" He chuckled and lightly swatted a thigh in warning. Hermione huffed and buried her face in the pillow. She was quite sleepy, and the embarrassing position mattered less as she relaxed and breathed deeply, let her eyes drift closed.

In her heart, Hermione felt peaceful and unashamed of what had just happened. It felt good when Malfoy showed his love, even if she didn't like it much in the she knew she'd get a long cuddle when he released her, which was even nicer.

It rather irritated Draco that his little girl had fallen asleep. She was supposed to be tearfully contemplating her disgrace, not napping, no matter how entertaining a visual it was. He'd had Tibby get her a glass of water, even went outside the room to spare her being seen this way, and was she awake to appreciate it? Brat. He reached for her wand and the bottle of lotion that sat on the bedside table.

Hermione woke to the feeling of something cold on her still burning skin. She instinctively tried to jerk away, until Draco's voice came from behind her. "Oh, you're awake. Fancy that." Hermione squirmed, trying to see what he was doing. No luck.

"Lift up a bit, Hermione. No, keep your torso on the bed. That's right, just stay still." The cold thing moved downward and she realized it was his hand, slightly sticky with something that felt like lotion.

"That better, love? I put a cooling charm on the bottle."

Hermione nodded, sighing. The lotion didn't do much in practical terms, but it felt so good to just lay there and let him take care of her. He smoothed a healthy amount into each thigh, paying careful attention to her sit spots.

His cool, slightly greasy hand drifted lower. "I'm going to release your bad humours now, Hermione. Tell me if it hurts." He moved slowly and carefully, cautious not to hurt her. Hermione opened her thighs to help him, feeling the throbbing in her backside and not minding as much. Draco found his objective and used the other hand to cup her arse.

He began to stroke the little nub, pleased by the way she was reacting. He rubbed up and down, giving a gentle squeeze every few seconds with the hand perched on her bum. Hermione gasped, writhing, and actually kicked a little with her feet. Draco grinned. He could forget this way, for a little while.

He could feel her peak approaching and so could she, because she thrust her hips in time with his strokes and whimpering, almost sobbing with pleasure. Abruptly, Draco stopped. "Hmmm. I'm not sure I ought to give such a naughty girl a nice reward like this. Perhaps I'll just tuck you right in on your belly, just as you are now, and let you cry out that bright red backside. How would that be?"

"OhnopleaseIllbegoodIhavetofinish."

"I don't know…you were terribly naughty, weren't you?"

"Ahhh! Yes, sir!"

"What did you get for it, Hermione?" He gave her arse a solid whack, careful not to hurt her internally, and immediately began to rub again. Now she was sobbing, a high, breathy gasping. She squirmed frantically.

"Ohhhh! S-smacked, sir!"

"That's right, you got a smacked bottom for being such a naughty little girl. Say it, Hermione, and I'll finish releasing your humours for you."

She hissed with pleasure. "I was—ah, ah, Draco—very naughty

and—ohmyyes—got a smacked bottom for it! Please!"

"Not good enough. Say it properly, Granger." He whacked her thigh and began to rub with slow, lazy circles, humming to himself. His little girl was soaking his fingertips, showing how much she wanted him. Draco's erection hurt, and he began to stroke himself, throwing his conscious mind into the void and embracing sensation.

"Iwasaverynaughtylittlegirlandgotasmackedbottomforitpleaseletmefinish!"

"Properly, I said!"

"I was a very naughty little girl and got a smacked bottom for it!"

She bucked and finished with a jerk of her muscles and an enthusiastic

"Draco!" He withdrew slowly, wanting to savor every contract of her pleasure, wanting to feel how happy he'd made her. She lay over the pillows, not moving, and for a horrid moment Draco was sure it had been too much for her. He shook her by the shoulder and she murmured a lazy "Mmmm?"

"You scared the life out of me!"

"Sorry. I just feel so nice."

That didn't exactly hurt Draco's ego. He flipped her on her back, careful of how sore she surely was, and tugged her pajama top off. Granger sat up just enough to get into the drawer and pulled out a phial of contraceptive. She downed it at a gulp and then he was in her.

Hermione opened her legs wider and rose to meet him, moving with his thrusts. Draco grunted and used her shoulders as leverage, thrusting almost violently. If they stayed like this, if they lost themselves in one another, then neither had to think about their own private torments.

All things must end, and for Draco it came in a convulsive orgasm that obliterated conscious thought for thirty endless seconds. He pulled out and collapsed beside her, red faced and panting. Hermione rolled and kissed him, wanting to touch and hold.

Draco scourgified them both and then sat. He patted his lap and still naked, she came and sat in it. "Are you better, dearest?"

"It had been a while. Do you suppose Mother will be satisfied?"

He nodded, suddenly tired. Hermione snuggled into his neck. He'd helped her purge the guilt she felt about what she perceived as the selfish desire to have her parents back again, but as for the grief she felt for them, that was intact. It lay inside her, shoved into her own mental room, and she did not intend to touch it for a long, long time.

As for Draco, he had a sudden, irrational idea that he'd have nightmares. He didn't want to be alone, not that night or any night. He didn't connect his fear with the huge and unaccustomed wave of—something—he felt when he gave this whole issue too much thought. He summoned her pajamas and redressed her in the top.

"Find your corner, my girl." Hermione huffed loudly, not liking the sudden transition between cuddling and the humiliating position she was expected to take up. Take it up she did, and Draco spent a moment admiring how adorable she looked before he called Tibby and ordered it to take Hermione's pillows and quilts downstairs. Hermione half turned and Draco clicked his tongue warningly.

"I need to go downstairs, love. I want you right there, hands on your head. Don't you—dare—rub. I'll be right back." He darted downstairs and transfigured the divan into a little daybed.

Hermione was staring at the walls, wondering if he'd notice if she rubbed just a bit, when a freezing cold hand clamped the back of her neck and she gasped. Draco spun her and grinned. "Thinking about something naughty, weren't you?"

Hermione's red cheeks answered for her. He laughed aloud and led her to the bed, holding out her sleep trousers for her to step into. Before he pulled them up, he inspected her bum, giving a satisfied nod.

"Good and red. I like a nice strong colour on you. Helps you remember your lessons."

Hermione wiggled. "I remember them without, too."

Draco gave her an ungentle swat. "Hermione Jane! I ought to smack you all over again for telling a lie like that."

"It's not, though. I remember them just fine, it's that--"

"Sometimes it seems expedient to ignore them and hope I don't catch you?"

Hermione looked away and Draco laughed again. "I'm Slytherin for a reason, precious. All right, down we go. Arms around my neck, I'm going to carry you."

"You don't always have to carry me, you know. I can walk perfectly well."

"You're a very little girl, and your punishments just make you so tired, it's better if I help you. There, put your head down." He carried her downstairs and put her on the couch, which had been transfigured. Hermione laughed softly.

"Draco! What did you do?"

"Mother says we can't share a bed. Never said we can't share a room. And this isn't even a bedroom, so we ought to be fine." He tucked her in, ignoring her protests, and had Tibby fetch her stuffed badger.

"I don't need my badger, Draco. I haven't slept with it since I was nine."

Draco had slept with his stuffed dragon until he went away to school, but he would have bitten out his own tongue before he told anyone that. He chuckled indulgently and tucked the badger under her arm all the same.

"Such an awfully little girl might be scared, waking up someplace other than her bed, so I think she needs her little friend to make sure she doesn't get too upset. Hush, or no story."

Hermione gave him a wry look and said nothing. Draco chose a book from the shelf more or less at random and opened it, seating himself in the armchair across from the divan.

Hermione yawned. She was always so tired after she'd let her emotions out this way, and being read to always made her feel sleepy anyway. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, relaxing completely. She was asleep less than a quarter hour later, lulled by the sound of Draco's voice and the burning, familiar warmth in her backside.

Draco read on a while longer, desperate to stave off sleep. He would have given much to be allowed to climb in beside Granger and cradle her against him, cuddle himself to sleep with her warm, soft body. He didn't; his love for his parents compelled him to obedience. And so he read, until finally he could read no more. His eyes grew heavy, lingering on the lines under his gaze:

Your sorrow teaches me my own,

and your feet walk the path that once I tread,

The cliffs at the sea's edge cry out the shrill cry

Of a sea bird, having lost her young

Their echo eddies along the shore,

A lament….

Draco's head fell to chest, and as he drifted off to fitful sleep, he tried to push the lines from his mind, uncomfortable with what he read there.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Malfoys came early the next day, stepping through the Floo at half past nine. They were greeted by a most charming sight; their son, sleeping in a chair, his mudblood on the divan. Narcissa turned and smiled at her husband and he smiled back, both of them amused rather than annoyed.

"Poor little love must have broken down after we left, and this was how he comforted her." Lucius nodded and went to wake their son. Draco's eyes snapped open and he groped for a wand he didn't have anymore before his mind registered who it was.

"Darling, what's wrong? Did she have a nightmare?"

Draco shook his head. "No, Mother. She got rather upset and I thought it best she not sleep alone." Narcissa nodded and smiled.

"Hermione, wake up, darling. It's Father, shhh." Lucius bent and gently helped her up before Draco could protest. Narcissa put a hand to his arm.

"I'll stay with her, love. She needs to learn to depend on Father and I as well, you know." Draco nodded and sat, blinking and yawning. He'd slept thickly, but thought he recalled vaguely discomforting shapes and noises. Stupid, jumping at shadows.

Hermione climbed into her bed. She'd slept well, but thought it imprudent to argue, given how sore she was and how seriously Draco took obedience to his parents. She didn't expect Narcissa to come up at all, let alone sit on her bed and take Hermione's head into her lap.

"I am so proud of you, dearest. You were very good to let Draco help you feel better."

Hermione thanked her politely. Narcissa lightly smoothed her brow, humming. With a bit of a start, Hermione realized it was the same song Draco hummed so much.

"Was that his favorite?"

"Draco? I used to sing that to him every night before bed. I'll teach it to you someday, if you like."

"I'd like that." They smiled at one another, united by the affection they had for the irritating, high handed, weirdly endearing man they both loved. "Now, dear heart, tell me all about it."

Having learned a thing or two from Draco, she accidentally left out the smacking and congress and only mentioned the emotions. Narcissa was well pleased. She held her a while longer and left her in bed, having made her swear to try to sleep for at least forty five minutes before she got up.

For Draco's part, Father gave him a single swat the second the women were out of sight. "Oww! Father!"

"That's for trying to outsmart Mother and I. You're clever, but we're older and more sly by half." Draco laughed and gave his father a quick hug. Lucius hugged him back. "I've no idea how you managed it—nor wish to know—but Mother is well pleased and so am I. She'll be all right now."

Draco nodded. Father sat in the chair and Draco settled on the divan, swearing he wasn't tired. Lucius, who knew his son better than Draco himself, made a few innocuous seeming remarks, and within ten minutes the boy was sleeping deeply, the afghan thrown over him.

When Narcissa came back down, they had a cup of tea, feeling a sense of contentment neither had felt for a long while. The children were cared for, the political situation was gradually improving, and they would be home soon. Life was not perfect but it was good, and that had to be enough. And for the moment, it was.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Outside, the figures skulked away from the windows. One of them hissed with hatred, raised a wand. Another batted it down. "Not now, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix Lestrange turned to Greyback and smiled, looking beautiful and utterly insane, both of which she was. "Soon enough, Greyback. Soon enough."


	31. Chapter 31

A/N:  
_**Lucius Malfoy here, for the second time--not that anyone minds, I'm sure. My little notes are so much more engaging than the usual, **_

_**wouldn't you say?**_

**_ Firstly, to render thanks to all the muggles who kindly left their thoughts. (I still shan't say love, do you hear? It's altogether too _**

**_muggle).  
_**

**_Second, undying gratitude to Countess Black. This lady is, I assure you, the most consistantly tolerable of muggles. Moreso, anyway, _**

_**than that boy Madea insists is courting her--though I find him rather dubious, in truth, for in all this time, he has yet to ask Madam **_

_**Malfoy or I for permission, let **__**alone send us a gift to prove his seriousness. Young people today and their manners.... **_

**_Thirdly, to apologize for Madea's unaccpetable laziness in not having posted this sooner. I have spoken to her quite sternly about it, _**

**_rest _****_assured, and she has promised it shan't happen again. _**

_**Finally, I'd be obliged if the readers strove to **__**review. Madea sulks and complains dreadfully until she gets some, and I do need my **_

_**rest.  
**_

Ron Weasley was many things. He was funny, sincere and as quick to deprecate himself as he was others. One thing he was not was perceptive. He had noticed the strange look that passed between Hermione and Malfoy at the manor, but hadn't thought much about it. In his defense, he had a lot on his mind, like the cannibalistic freak chasing them and defeating the most evil wizard in Britain.

Still, when the story appeared in the Prophet, no one believed it. Especially not Ron, who still thought, deep inside, Hermione would come round. How could she not, with all they had suffered together? He shrugged and flipped past the numerous editorials decrying the clemency that many ex-Death Eaters were receiving. The name 'Malfoy' both senior and junior, featured prominently.

Ron was not in the habit of checking the announcement column, buried in the society pages. That was for girls. His interests were Quidditch stats and the funnies in that order. And so he ignored, quite accidentally, the small, tasteful box in the left hand corner. "The Malfoy family wishes to announce a proposed union between that line and a girl of the Granger family." There was an address where formal complaints or impediments could be lodged. That was all.

Many more discerning readers, thinking it to be a tasteless joke, wrote letters of complaint, which were promptly used to line the owl cages. The real ruckus started three days later, when the facts of the thing were made absolutely incontrovertible to everyone who was anyone, and a good number who, despite being no one in particular, were there none the less. Hermione Granger, the most famous and beloved witch in Britain, really was marrying Draco Malfoy.

As it was, many of the people closest to Hermione and Draco respectively had long since guessed, not to mention the various aurors and Order members who had seen the two together at her house. Still, it was jarring to say the least, to see Hermione Granger come from testifying, holding onto the younger Malfoy's arm.

There was quite a crowd that day, the common witch and wizard wanting, in some measure, to see the former pillars of wizarding society brought so low. Many of them, having lost family or friends, homes or businesses, came to sneer and cat call, and who could blame them?

Lucius, of course, had been testifying for the best part of a month. This was the first public testimony that either child had been called to give, and so both parents came for support. Potter had already gone and Weasley would go the next day. Draco had given numerous depositions in closed chambers, and had gotten a small taste in shuttling back and forth. He understood what would almost certainly happen and was resigned to it. The person everyone was really worried for was Hermione, except, of course, Hermione herself. She'd taken Draco's arm without the slightest hesitation and stepped into the flashbulbs and questions.

The room went perfectly still for a long, long moment. Draco, having become used to it, mentally begged the ancestors to protect Hermione from what he knew would come next. He didn't care if they spat and jeered him, but Hermione and Mother were sacred.

The ancestors were elsewhere, or bored, because they did not stop it. The sound rose in a low, sibilant murmur, which rose to a din within seconds. Anger, confusion, disbelief. Hermione had gone rigid beside Draco. He took a deep breath, preparing to defend her verbally, when the first shout rang out.

"Traitor!"

"Malfoy's whore!"

Hermione blanched but held her ground. She turned and gave Draco a smile that, if not for her ghastly white face, would have been nearly normal. "I feel rather tired, Draco. Would it be all right if we went home to rest?"

Lucius and Narcissa moved forward at the same moment, intent on shielding the children as much as possible from the crowd's spleen. Narcissa put her hand to Draco's shoulder and pressed him forward, determined they should not suffer the vulgar intimations of common people a moment longer than necessary.

The crowd had other ideas. It milled around, wanting to see the spectacle, and not for the first time, Draco thought he would have traded his eyeteeth for his wand. He felt a gently tug at his hand and Hermione took a step, wanting the whole dreadful moment over with.

They yelling increased. Someone clamped Lucius Malfoy hard on the arm and he spun, shielding his wife. It was Auror Dawlish. "Sir, follow me." The auror brandished his wand and calmly murmured a spell. The crowd parted cleanly in two and they walked down the aisle, heads high.

Hermione felt something hot and wet hit her cheek. It was saliva. She stopped and calmly faced the crowd. Draco stopped as well, and his parents. Dawlish took a step toward her, meaning to hurry her along, but she shook her head.

"Who spat on me?" She pulled herself to her full height and said, loudly and clearly "If you're willing to do a thing like that, own up to it, at least."

The crowd grew silent. An old woman in magenta robes and a poison green hat stepped forward. "I did it, and I shall do it again in a moment. You are the very worst kind of traitor."

Hermione softened her voice. "I'm afraid you're quite confused, Madam. I am not a traitor, and if it weren't for the Malfoys, Harry, Ron and I would never have survived at all." Pandemonium broke out. Now the anger and disbelief were cut by an undercurrent of confusion.

Before anyone could ask them to explain, Hermione smiled her very sweetest. "I'm sure I couldn't say anything else, though of course we'd be happy to speak to the Prophet once the Ministry gives approval, wouldn't we, Draco, Father?" The mode of address didn't escape anyone who heard it, and it, as much as anything else, drove the point home.

The men nodded, stunned by Hermione's spine. Dawlish bit back a smile and motioned the family to move forward. To the surprise and pleasure of all present, the wands of the three Malfoys were returned at the entrance. It had been weeks since any of them had done any but the most casual magic, having submitted to the indignities of using a borrowed wand. Draco, at least, felt as though his arm were complete again.

Lucius decided they would go to Andromeda's first. They stepped through the Floo and were greeted by the overjoyed Lemmy. "Master, Madam, you is home! Lemmy is worrying!" Lemmy sniffled, gearing up for the wailing and sobbing that served as the all purpose emotional expression for house elves.

Lucius was in no mood. "Lemmy, where is my sister in law?"

The sniffling ceased at once."Madam Andromeda is going to do some shopping, Master. She is leaving young Master Teddy with Lemmy, but he is being sleeping right now."

Draco turned to Hermione. "You all right, Granger?"

"Fine. Are you?"

He nodded. "Of course I am, but you need to go and sit down." Hermione opened to mouth to protest but couldn't, because she was being embraced with too much force by Narcissa, who pressed Hermione's head onto her shoulder and began to sway slightly.

"Darling, shhhhh. It's all right now, Mother is here." She wasn't especially surprised to find that Hermione, rather than shaking like a leaf as she ought to have been, was breathing normally, if a bit fast. The older witch was determined to show Hermione that she and Lucius were firmly in control and that she would be taken care of. It was such work, but if what had just happened was any indication, it would be worth it. Narcissa understood a bit better what her son saw in the girl. Filthy blood and lack of breeding aside, she showed surprising promise.

Lucius directed Lemmy to get Hermione cleaned up while Narcissa tried to console her. The elf returned and Hermione, resigned, submitted to several moments of scrubbing that left her face pink. She swallowed the draught, ignoring the inner voice that twanged slightly and then set the phial down, feeling her heart rate drop and her jangling nerves quiet.

Lucius sat on Hermione's other side, while Draco perched on the arm of the divan, earning him a Look from his mother, who didn't approve of such muggle informality but couldn't bring herself to say very much, given her darling baby's obvious need to be close to his intended.

Lucius reminded himself about his duty as patriarch. "Put your head on my shoulder, love. There's the girl." She dropped her head to Lucius' shoulder, stomach clenching automatically. Under her cheek, the man felt tense as well. She suspected he was no more comfortable than she, but after a moment they each perceived the other beginning to relax a little.

A thin wail came from the nursery. Lemmy DisApparated, and within moments Narcissa was holding Teddy. The baby laughed, body vibrating, and hugged her neck. "Ci! Ci!"

"That's right, Teddy, Auntie Cissy is here. And look, here's Uncle as well." Lucius grinned and waved at the baby, who clapped with glee. Hermione blinked with surprise, taking a moment to process the evident pleasure on the faces of everyone in the room in contemplating the burbling infant.

"Draco, come and see the baby." Draco obediently leant forward and held out a finger. Teddy grabbed it, giving it a cheerful nip the second it was in range. "Oww! Blo—I mean, no, no, Teddy." Draco blushed, noticing that Mother was giving him a Look for nearly swearing in front of the baby.

Hermione snorted. "He hasn't any teeth."

"You come here, then, and let him bite you. We'll see what's funny, my girl." Hermione held out her arms. Narcissa, delighted, handed her the baby, who tolerated it for a moment and then started to cry.

"That's odd. Babies usually love me."

"He's hungry, I'm sure. Once he's used to you, you'll be the best of friends." Narcissa took the baby back and handed him to Lucius, who bent and kissed the fat little belly. Teddy's tear stopped at once and he crowed with pleasure, reaching for the gold watch chain that dangled enticingly from Uncle's waistcoat pocket.

Narcissa beamed mistily. "He's so like Draco when he was small. You'd never seen a more beautiful baby, all that blonde hair. Wouldn't you say, Lucius?"

"Of course. Though I seem to remember he got into quite a lot of mischief. Do you remember the time he upset the potted plant in the drawing room?"

Narcissa giggled. "And the time with the ink well in your study?"

Draco blushed. "I was two!"

"Mmm, yes. Several valuable documents had to be replaced, as I recall." Draco abruptly stood and extended a hand to Hermione. "Come, Granger, and I'll show you the, ah, upstairs."

"Looking for mice, Draco?"

"Something like that, Father. Hurry now, Hermione, there's a love."

The second they were out of sight, Lucius and Narcissa burst out laughing. "Were we that way when we were young?"

"We were worse. That time we sneaked into the garden at night…"

Lucius mock-frowned. "The worst whacking I ever got, I'll have you know, and it was all your fault. Madam just had to see the roses at night, didn't she?"

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Still playing the martyr, Malfoy?"

Lucius moved a bit closer, his knee just barely touching hers. "I certainly am, Black. All you got was a hairbrush smacking from Mother. I had to face Father. Couldn't sit for a week."

" I like to fancy the kiss I gave you in the arbour was worth it."

Lucius nodded. "That it was, my darling. That it was." And, believing themselves unobserved, they promptly did it again. Though none of the four would ever know it as such, Lucius and Narcissa's own best moment was that long ago arbour night, the roses their mistletoe, the thing by which all others are judged and found in some way to pale.

On the stairs, Draco stopped and shuddered. "Bloody hell." He'd heard everything from the bottom of the stairs.

Hermione, worried, turned back. "Something wrong, Draco?"

He shook his head and kept walking. "Not at all, darling."

He never let on that he knew, and tried his best to stricken it from his mind. As much as one knows one's parents are human, the evidence, more often than not, is horrifying in a way that's hard to name.

Andromeda returned to find the four, along with Teddy, sitting in the living room, chatting idly and just relaxing together. Teddy had decided that Hermione was not, in fact, a stranger, and was amusing himself tugging her hair and laughing. Draco, was watching them, smiling a little, wondering what it might be like to watch her with a child of his, of theirs.

Andromeda sighed and dropped her parcels on the divan beside her sister. "Cissy, Lucius, how did it go?"

"As well as it ever does, Andromeda. And you?"

"Fine, fine. I found some of those biscuits Teddy likes." Andromeda sat on the floor beside Hermione and smiled at her grandson. "Teddy, my love! Who's here?"

Teddy crowed. "Na! Na!"

"Yes, that's right! Nan's here!"

"Andromeda Callista Black, are teaching him to call you 'Nan'?"

Andromeda turned to her younger sister and grinned mischievously. "Yes, Narcissa Euphemia, I am. What's wrong with that?"

"It's absolutely_ muggle _of you. Mother would be appalled, simply appalled."

"Cissy, Mother thought trousers on women would cause the ancestors to smite us with spattergroit, remember?"

"Yes, well. My objection stands, Andromeda."

Draco chanced to look at Hermione. Her face was very still and she was breathing deeply. He leant over and took her hand in his, squeezing. Hermione forced a small smile. "I'm feeling a little lightheaded. May I lie down?"

Lucius nodded at once. "Yes, of course. Draco, take Hermione to the guest bedroom. Lemmy will chaperone you." The two teens made their way rapidly up the stairs and into the spacious, sunny guest room. Hermione sat down on the bed and sighed loudly.

"Darling?"

"I'm all right. I just don't like hearing 'muggle' used as a synonym for common, that's all."

"You didn't say anything."

"Your parents have been very accommodating, Draco. I need to extend them the same courtesy. People don't change deeply held beliefs over night." Draco nodded and kissed her cheek. Narcissa had had Tibby style her hair a bit more elaborately than usual for the hearing, and she was wearing a borrowed set of robes in a deep grey. He thought she looked lovely.

They might have sat talking for ages had not the Floo hissed. They looked at one another, and then Lucius' voice rang out from downstairs. "Children, come downstairs, please. We've a visitor."

They obediently rose and made their way down. Ronald Weasley stood by the Floo.

Ron had called his brother a liar when Percy told him about seeing Hermione and the Malfoys. All the same, the look which had passed between the Ferret and Hermione kept chafing at him like a bubble of air. Finally he could take it no longer—he would Floo discretely to Andromeda Tonks', see the baby, and ask if it was true.

Ron was sure it wasn't. Why Percy would make such a thing up was beyond him—his brother had no visible sense of humour, and even if he had, Ron doubted it would run in such a malicious direction. Still, there was no harm in being sure, was there?

To his horror, he'd been greeted by the sight of Lucius Malfoy, face a mask and eyes coolly amused. "Mr. Weasley, what a surprise. To what do we owe this… intrusion?"

Ron pulled himself straighter and glared straight back. "Is Hermione here?"

"Miss Granger? Why, yes, I believe she is. She and her fiancé have taken a moment to rest. The poor thing was really quite exhausted by that disgusting spectacle after the hearing. ' He turned and strode to the bottom of the stairs. "Children, come downstairs, please. We've a visitor."

Ron had been suffering, like many of the veterans of the war, from nightmares. The most persistent one was the Department of Mysteries; the very sound of Lucius Malfoy's cold, drawling voice made him shiver. The nightmare feeling was about to get ten thousand times worse, as Hermione walked down the stairs, dressed up. Hard on her heels was the younger Malfoy, smiling nastily.

"Hello, Ron." Hermione tried to smile brightly at her friend, seeing how pale he was. Ron shook his head slowly, saying nothing. Hermione approached him and kissed his cheek. "It's been weeks. How have you been? How are Molly and Arthur?"

"Is it true?"

"Pardon?"

"Is it _true_, Hermione?"

Hermione got it. Sighing, she tried to put a hand to his arm. "Ron, let me explain--."

"What? You mean you –_Malfoy_ --?"

Draco stepped up and smirked. "Are you as thick as you look? Give the bride your best wishes, Weasley, Hermione and I are to be married."

Hermione stiffened. "Draco, stop it. Don't tease him."

Draco ignored her and cocked his head at Ron." Well, Weasley? Manners are free, you know."

Ron snapped. With a vile word, he lunged, fist connecting solidly with Draco's jaw. Draco's head snapped back, the pain a starburst in his brain. He recovered, reached for his wand and found Hermione was blocking his shot with her body.

"Move, Hermione!"

"Don't call her that, Malfoy!"

"I'll call her anything I want!"

"Ronald! Draco! Both of you stop it!"

Lucius and Narcissa finally had enough and drew their wands. They didn't want to intervene, not yet, not when the political situation was so precarious, but they were also unwilling to watch Arthur Weasley's idiot child assault their son.

Ron stepped away, and the wands were lowered. "But Hermione—Malfoy?"

"I thought you knew, Ron. After that night in the manor, I thought you knew."

Draco clucked. "You were relying on his native intelligence, Hermione? Tsk tsk, my darling, how naïve."

"Sod off!"

"Draw your wand and say that. Let's see how brave you are without Granger protecting you."

Hermione spun around. "Draco, please. You're making this harder than it already is."

"_I'm_ making it harder? He punched me and insulted our family. Tell him off about making things harder."

"This might go a bit more smoothly if we could have privacy." Hermione took a cautious step away from the two angry men.

Draco shook his head and stepped forward to put a hand on her arm. "Leave you alone with this maniac? Hardly. He punched me, for God' sake. He's clearly capable of any kind of violence."

"Draco, it's Ron. He'd never do anything to me."

"I said violence, not deep thought, Granger. I'm staying."

Andromeda cleared her throat. "I'd be happy to stay and chaperone." Narcissa sat down beside her sister and took the baby, snuggling him. "I will as well. Draco, Lucius, would you please go and find my smelling salts? I am feeling faint, and I'm sure Hermione is as well." The gentlemen, none too gracefully, retired to the bedroom where Lucius and Narcissa were living.

Ron and Hermione sat down on a pair of squashy chairs. Hermione made herself speak gently. "You must understand, Ron, that I never meant it to happen. He and I—we—it just…"

"For how long?"

"Since fifth year, December of Fifth year."

Ron slowly shook his head. "But that's…you mean that whole time with Lavendar?"

"That's right. Draco and I were—seeing one another even then."

"Does Harry know?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Yes. He's known for over a year. He and Draco swore an Unbreakable Vow to protect me before Draco…left."

"Tried to kill Dumbledore, you mean."

Narcissa cleared her throat. "Mr. Weasley, I must insist you cease that sort of talk if you wish to be allowed to speak with Hermione. She's extremely fragile, and I won't have her upset."

"I'm all right, Mother." Ron jerked, hearing her call Narcissa Malfoy that. Especially because the woman seemed to be fine with it. Pleased, in fact, because she leant over and gave Hermione both a squeeze on the arm and a stern look. And Hermione, the girl Ron loved, blushed. Squeezed back.

"I just can't believe--I always thought you and I--"

"No, Ron. I told you last year that would never happen."

"But I love you."

"And I you, but only as a friend."

"That's where you were going when you left at night?"

"Not at first. He caught me in the library one night, and it rather went from there."

Ron looked away, eyes filling. "It…?"

Hermione paused. "Conversations, mainly. Arguments. We grew on one another, and when he asked me, I said yes."

"Simple as that? Malfoy calls and you answer?"

"There was nothing simple about it. I tried hard not to hurt you, Ron. But it's my life. I have a right to happiness on my own terms."

"But Hermione, Malfoy? The ferret? He hates you and everyone like you."

"It's because of him that we're alive tonight. His parents risked their lives to see us through to the end."

Ron stood. "I need to think. Goodbye, Hermione."

"I'll owl you, Ron.' She stood as well and went to see him out. "Please, please, be happy for me."

"What about your parents?"

"Fa-Mr. Malfoy has agreed to help me find them."

"The Ministry--"

"Will do nothing, just as they have this whole time. Am I supposed to wait forever, Ron?"

Ron said nothing. Jaw tight, he Flooed out without a word. He'd never felt so betrayed, so unwanted, in his life. The girl he loved didn't love him back. His best mate had known and said nothing. He went home and lay down, shoes still on. The house was utterly still. The worst part of the whole thing, he thought as tears began to drip slowly down his cheeks, was that Percy the Prat got to be right.

Anyway, I must once more render thanks to those among you who owled the author (though I will *not* say love, do you hear? It's


	32. Chapter 32

** Muggles,**

**I shall make the author's usual protestation of eternal devotion, followed by my usual protestation against a muggle sort of familarity. Are we all satisfied? Very well, then. Countess Black was once more of enormous help, especially, I think, in encouraging Madea to be less impulsive and write an ending more in keeping with my family's very high standards. Now if only she could convince Draco not to 'improve' the things he finds in Madea's writing system, as that Professor was less than amused by all the commentary written on that essay.**

** Oh, and that muggle boy is still lurking about. I shall show him the errors of his ways, never fear. And do review, dear lady/sir, because I simply cannot concience hours of sulking tonight. I've a bit of a headache, and a weepy scene would be just too much.**

When the Floo flared, both Draco and Hermione tensed, prepared to draw and fight. Draco wondered how he could protect Hermione if his former colleagues had somehow infiltrated the house; Hermione was wondering much the same, only scared for Draco.

It was Lucius and Narcissa, thankfully. The children jumped up to be embraced and fussed over, delighted by the hamper of food Lucius was clutching in his hand. To their surprise, three more figures stepped through behind the elder Malfoys.

"Greg?"

"Oi, Draco."

The man beside him was clearly his brother. Galten Goyle was a head taller, and his fat seemed more solid, somehow. The woman beside him was mousy blonde, with a round face devoid of any particular emotion. Not blank, precisely; more like watching.

"Antigone, Galten, you remember my son. And this is his fiancée, Miss Granger."

They nodded. Hermione had a strange sense they were watching her, waiting for some cue. She pulled herself up straighter and put out a hand, smiling. "It's very nice to meet you both."

"Likewise." The elder Goyle's voice was a deep rumble. He carefully took Hermione's hand in his huge one and shook. His wife nodded, moon like visage revealing nothing. After a moment, the woman said softly "Yes, of course. Miss Granger."

Lucius gently motioned them into the parlour. Handing the hamper off to Tibby, they all crowded in. Hermione's skin was crawling for no logical reason; having grown used to, and even fond of, Draco's parents, she couldn't help but expect Goyle to hex her or something.

She needn't have worried. Greg had his own concerns. He'd sustained minimal wounds in the Battle, in the bodily sense. His psyche, on the other hand, was not nearly so well. He'd been moving in a fog for weeks. This last piece of news had been the unicorn hair which broke the manticore's beak.

Didn't Greg have any friends at all? Vince was dead, and now it seemed that Draco, his other best mate, had hidden something monumental, something life changing, from him. How long had this, this thing been going on? Why hadn't Draco ever said?

"Hermione, please go and wait in your room, Mother shall be up to explain shortly. You aren't in trouble, love, it's all right. Draco, you and Gregory may go and amuse yourselves in your room."

All three obediently trudged up the stairs, Draco looking much cheerier than Hermione had seen him in a long while. "It's wedding stuff, Granger. They're planning!" Hermione had to smile at the excitement in his voice. She felt a warm thrill of love, almost painful in its intensity, bloom in her chest. At her door she held up a hand. "Wait a moment, boys."

They waited as she dashed into her room and handed them a small box of something. Draco opened it and raised his eyebrows. "Dominoes?"

"Yes. In case you both get bored." She grinned and he grinned back. Greg found himself noticing how Malfoy looked at her, this mudblood—he'd never seen Draco smile like that before.

Taking the box, the boys went into the guest room and sat on the bed. Greg roused himself from his stupor long enough to look around at the muggle house. The bed was tiny, just barely big enough for two. There was a tatty looked chair and a little table. A small wardrobe. A WC. That was all.

"How've you been, Greg?"

Greg blinked. "Fine. You?"

"All right, I suppose. I'll be happier once we're in the manor, of course. This place isn't as awful as I thought it would be, but it's not home." Draco sighed. The Ministry had promised they'd be home weeks ago, but like everything else the Ministry touched, it had been false. Or at least grossly exaggerated.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Pardon?"

"About the mu--" The next instant, Draco's wand was drawn and held at Greg's chest. Goyle jerked with shock. "M-Malfoy?"

"If—you—ever—call—Granger—that—again--I –shall—make—you –wish –you'd—never been –been-- born. And you know I can do it, Goyle. I spent a year with my darling aunt, and one doesn't associate with Bellatrix without picking up a few things." Draco's voice was totally level, calm and filled with a sort of good humour Greg knew to be a danger signal.

"All right. Sorry." Draco dropped his wand and tucked it away without another word. "Dominoes, Greg?"

Greg nodded. "Why didn't you?"

"Tell you about Granger and I?"

"Yeah."

Draco huffed. "Because it was dangerous." He couldn't explain it, anymore than he could explain the thing itself. It probably _would _have been dangerous, but that had very little with why he hadn't told, aside from the obvious self interest involved.

The real reason was simpler and more complicated. Hermione was his, had been his, and during that awful time, he'd needed her as an escape, then for comfort, then finally because he needed her to be the conscience he couldn't afford to have anymore.

Goyle looked away. "You told us about your mission. That was dangerous, too." His voice was carefully neutral, but Draco could hear a thin, crackling layer of hurt all the same. Why did Goyle care? He knew now, and really, it was no one's business but his and his family's. Well, and Granger, probably.

"Didn't you think I'd still be your friend?"

"_What_?"

"Were you scared Vince and I wouldn't want to be friends with you anymore? We would have. I do. Want to be your friend still."

Well. This was beyond awkward. Draco hadn't given it a bit of thought, honestly. Of course Crabbe and Goyle—just Goyle, now—would do what he wanted. They always had. He was the smartest, and the richest, and they needed him so the others would talk to them.

It was actually sort of…touching. Goyle was clearly waiting on an answer, and Draco cleared his throat. "Greg, it wasn't…it wasn't that I didn't trust you or anything. It was that it…no one could know. If He'd known you knew, it would have been you and Hermione both, as punishment. You never went to those meetings. I did." Draco swallowed drily and realized he was telling the truth.

Greg nodded. "Yeah, Dad said. I was supposed to join the next week, you know. After the battle, I mean. Vince and me both."

"Really?"

" I didn't want to. Neither of us did."

"Why not?"

Greg shrugged. "Seemed like a bad business. You weren't happy."

"No, I wasn't. And Granger—she helped."

Goyle nodded. "Wished you'd told us. We'd have helped, too."

Draco shook his head. "It's different, Greg."

"Well, yeah, but we'd still have helped. Could've done your lessons for you or something." Draco managed to bite down on the snort that almost escaped. Goyle could hardly read, and here he was offering…he was sincere.

"I appreciate it, but it's…it was…she made me feel free."

Greg nodded again. " I understand. Milly makes me feel that way."

Draco refused to allow himself to smirk. "Oh?"

"Yeah. She makes me feel like—like I could win the House cup by myself."

This was weighty stuff for Goyle. "You aren't appalled she's a mudblood? Granger, I mean."

"How come you can call her that and I can't?"

"Because she's _my_ mudblood. And anyway, I didn't use it as a perjorative. It's just what Hermione is, like Bulstrode is…full figured."

"Fat, you mean?"

"Well, yes."

Greg shrugged. "S'all right. That's part of what I like about her. She's like hugging a down pillow. Fluffy."

Draco didn't need to know that. He shoved the mental image from his mind, vowed to say extra prayers to the ancestors to make up for whichever sin they were punishing him for, and nodded. He was glad Goyle was pleased, though, and nodded.

"It's funny. Vince told me not to ask about your bird at the time, so I didn't."

"Crabbe knew?"

"Guessed. Remember?"

Draco did, vaguely. "A bit."

"I really miss him. Vince."

"I'm sorry."

Goyle shook his head. "I was going to ask him to be my second, you know, when Milly and me get married next year." Then, to Draco's horror, Greg began to cry.

Tears occupied a special place in wizarding culture. Draco knew he ought to reach out to console Greg, to pat his back and urge him to express the emotions before they poisoned his well being, but he found he couldn't. All he could do was watch Greg shaking, tears running down his face. It was like watching an earthquake.

"Greg, I—do calm down. Shall I go and get Mother?"

"No. I'm all right." He did seem to be winding down, for all his face was flushed and his eyes too bright. "After all, it isn't like we shan't see one another again, and I still have you. You're my other best mate, you know."

Draco cringed. Oh, Merlin, this was too awkward. He had to say something. "There there, Greg."

An idea took form slowly in his mind. He'd yet to decide who would be his own second. He meant to ask either Nott or Zabini, but the longer he considered, the more this seemed an excellent plan. The Notts and Zabinis didn't need the money the position would bring and the Goyles did, badly.

And perhaps Greg's lack of intelligence in the conventional sense would help, for once. Nott was a vague acquaintance from a very good family; Zabini a sly, calculating sod who also happened to be a fanatical blood purist. Goyle was umimaginative enough to do things exactly by the books, and loyal enough to give it his all for Draco's sake.

"Greg, would you like to be my second?"

Goyle's face worked. "Really?"

"Yes. I'm sure Mother and Father will agree, and so will Galten and Antigone."

Greg felt his heart lighten. As much as he missed Vince, Draco was trying really hard to help him feel better. He licked his lips and said solemnly "Love to, Draco. Let me talk to Vince about it, though, all right? He might have something to add."

Draco nodded. He was perfectly comfortable and familiar with the custom of asking things of the dead, of course. Ideally, Crabbe would have no objections to the plan and it could go ahead. He'd never heard of it going any other way, but one worries.

"I always thought you'd marry Parkinson, you know."

"So did I. Dodged a bludger there, I daresay.

"She's an annoying cow. Always wanted to tell you that."

Draco burst out laughing, hard, and Greg joined him. "Don't try to be diplomatic, Greg."

"Didn't."

Some things never change. Draco opened the box and, shaking his head a bit, set them up for play.

Hermione wasn't faring quite as well. She'd been lying patiently in her bed, reading a novel, when Narcissa had walked in without asking and sat on the bed. "Darling, we've just finished negotiations. The Goyles will stand in for your parents."

"Stand in?"

"There are a number of ritual functions that need to be performed, and they suited the position admirably. And since they can't seem to have children…" Narcissa trailed off . Hermione nodded, feeling empathy despite herself. Perhaps that was why the woman had been so cold. As well intentioned as asking had doubtless been, it must have stung deeply all the same, seeing what they would never have.

"What will they have to do?"

"I'll explain that as we get closer to the date. Now, my darling, how are you feeling?"

"All right, Mother. A bit tired, but after the day we had yesterday, I expect we all are."

"Teddy certainly likes you." Narcissa couldn't have been more pleased by that turn of events. She adored children, and the thought of a Malfoy grandchild made her almost girlishly excited.

A baby to love and play with and spoil would make the whole hellish panoply of the last two years worth it. She was getting increasingly fond of Hermione, as well, and it would be great fun to have a daughter to teach the things she had learnt over a lifetime.

Hermione smiled and said " Was Draco that cheerful as a baby?"

"Draco? My goodness, yes. For all we tease him, you'd never met a more wonderful child. So rosy and sweet. Always laughing, too.' Narcissa turned and snapped his fingers. 'Tibby, go and get the picture Master carries in his waistcoat."

Tibby returned a moment later with a creased wizarding photo in her hand. Narcissa handed it to Hermione. Hermione laughed aloud, seeing it. Lucius, at twenty five or so, looking almost disconcertingly like Draco did now, holding a pink cheeked, giggling toddler on a divan. Beside them, a younger Narcissa also laughed, bending to give Draco a kiss. The picture-baby turned and kissed her back, all the while clinging to his father's hand.

"He always was his father's son. Like two bits of wool from the same bat's wing. We've always been close, Draco and I, but he and Lucius…when he was tiny, just hardly big enough to walk, he'd go and sit by the door, waiting hours for his father to come home."

Narcissa's eyes misted, seeing a small child in a baby's smock and little knee length trousers, clutching a toy soldier as he waited for Lucius. The door opening and the little voice ringing across the hall and into the sitting room where she also waited "Father! Father here! Mother! Come see!"

Hermione stood and picked something up from the shelf of pictures and little mementos. Handing it to Narcissa, she sat down and waited. Narcissa studied it a long while, curious and telling herself she was just humouring Hermione.

A man and woman stood on a beach. The child between them was button nosed, with two frizzy little pigtails. One parent held each hand and the toddler looked up solemnly at them, dressed in a tiny pink jacket and little trousers (!). She wasn't laughing but she nonetheless seemed happy, thoughtful. The parents weren't quite laughing, either, but both seemed to radiate pleasure in each other and in the little girl they held.

"You look very like your mother, my dear."

"Yes. She's taller than I, though, and thinner, most of the time. Dad's a little stockier, and he doesn't have as much hair now." Hermione shook her head to clear it. She hoped they were someplace in Australian where they could go to the beach. Her parents loved the beach, especially her Mum.

"Why are you dressed like a boy, though?"

"Those are girl's clothes. Muggles dress very small children alike until they reach school age or so."

Narcissa shook her head and said nothing. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together, slowly but surely. Something else occurred to her, and she smiled, reaching up to gently rub Hermione's shoulder.

"Now, love, you mustn't be embarrassed, but you must be very honest with me for the next few moments, all right?"

Hermione felt her skin tingling subtly. Oh dear, Narcissa was up to something. She was roughly as subtle as Draco when she was trying to find something out. "I try hard to be, Mother."

"Of course you do, my precious. Father and I would certainly have corrected you if you weren't, wouldn't we?"

Hermione wished she could drop through the floor. "Yes, Mother."

"During the ceremony, there will be a moment where you'll be expected to, well, prove your virtue. Ordinarily it wouldn't be a problem, but…given the circumstances, we think it advisable to have a little insurance. We've asked dear Severus—Professor Snape—to make a potion that will enable us to fool the test."

"What sort of test?"

"Another potion, actually. I wanted to ask about what happened that night when you—when he had his way with you. Can you discuss it with me? Will it upset you too much?"

"No, Mother."

"There's a brave girl.' Narcissa gently smoothed the girl's hair. "Now, darling, how did he talk you into it?"

"Talk me into it? He asked me, that's all."

Narcissa crooned. "Then you didn't know what was to happen! Poor darling, it's all right. "

"Oh no, I knew. It's common knowledge among muggles past a certain age."

Narcissa blinked and fussed with the blankets for something to do. "Well, dearest, most mothers tell their daughters about the marital debt, but I can't honestly imagine a parent telling a little girl about the—the specifics of the thing. You must mean that she implied, that's all."

Something suggested to Hermione that she not argue. She looked away, which Narcissa took as a sign of assent. She began to stroke the child's hair, wanting her relaxed and secure for the next part, which would doubtless be difficult for them both.

"And what did he do after, darling?"

"Pardon? After?"

Narcissa nodded. "I mean to ask, did he give you a potion? Perhaps a memory charm? Surely he did something to soothe you. You must have been awfully scared and upset, after a thing like that."

"Not really. I mean, I took some contraceptive before, and then afterword I had a bath."

Narcissa shook her head, appalled. "I am so sorry, darling. I would have thought he knew a bit better."

"Better than what, Mother?"

"To leave you with such a terrible memory. He didn't do a single thing?"

"It was all right, Mother. He was very gentle and sweet."

Narcissa nodded slowly. "Of course he was. He knew how delicate you are, and reacted accordingly." She felt slightly better knowing Draco had done his best to calm the poor child, but she wondered why her son had not thought to memory charm the girl after, or given her a potion to make her forget what had been done to her.

"And what did you do? Did you cry very hard, sweeting?"

"No, Mother. He gave me some pain potion and we took a hot bath, and then that was it."

Narcissa nodded. "Oh, my love. I am so sorry no one ever thought to tell you. Had I known, I would have explained."

"Explained what?"

Narcissa gently pressed the girl down. "I shall rub your back, Hermione. Take some deep breaths for me, won't you, as we discuss this?"

"You see, love, sometimes it behooves a lady to…well, to remind those around her how frail she is. A man likes the idea that his wife is a fragile, helpless creature. You might start shrieking when you see a mouse--elegantly, of course--or perhaps faint a little more than you do."

Hermione, who had never fainted in her life, nodded as politely as she could. She found the whole idea repellent, laughably anachronistic, deeply offensive. Her parents had always pushed her to achieve, had no tolerance for histrionics over a mere rodent or worm, stressed that her happiness shouldn't depend on a man.

Narcissa cocked her head and smiled. "You look appalled, my darling."

"It's not how I was raised to deal with things, is all."

"Of course not. But darling, sometimes it is all a lady has. And anyway, life moves much more smoothly when those around you understand how things need to be."

There was a light in Narcissa's eyes that Hermione had never seen before. She tilted her head right back, nodding, seeing the hidden depth in her mother-in-law's mind, the strength hidden under the dainty exterior.

"I imagine it was much the same for you, your Sixth year. Keeping up the façade, making them see what you wished them to."

"It was a challenge." Hermione hated the idea of manipulating people. And that's what this was, wasn't it? Was it? Narcissa pressed lightly on the place between the girl's shoulder blades.

"Let's go and see what the gentlemen are doing, shall we?"

Having see the Goyles off, the men were relaxing. They opened the hamper of food and had a late dinner of bread, cheese and cold meats, accompanied by pumpkin juice. After they ate, the family sat in the parlour, chatting and laughing.

Hermione heard it first. A kind of high metallic scratching, as though something were rasping at the window screen. She ignored it. Draco next. He put his head up, huffed and stood, walking toward it.

"It's the birds. They nest in that old willow tree, and they--"

Draco swore. Lucius, meaning to reprimand the boy, and seeing his face, leapt up instead. "Draco, what--"

Draco drew and flicked his wand at the window. A low whispering rasp filled the room. "Help me, Malfoy. Help me."

Hermione jumped up and spun, drawing herself, and Narcissa joined her. Hermione's mouth tasted like copper, her muscles suddenly cramping and releasing, dropping into a crouch of readiness. She felt clearheaded and calm, anticipating the fight her bones told her would come.

The pallid face of Peter Pettigrew looked back from the window. "You have to help me, Malfoy." Rasped the rat-man. "They're coming. You have to help me. They'll kill us all."


	33. Chapter 33

**Since Father's rather feeling peaky, I've decided to write this preface, and Madea agreed, especially since I have all sorts of information she'd rather not get out (hear that, Madea? Best be nicer or I'll accidentally let some things slip).**

**First thing, thanks to all the muggles who wrote back. I know that everyone really meant their remarks for me, but we'll keep that between us, hmmm? **

**Second, a special mention to Countess Black. Her ideas are always good and she treats me nicely, unlike some muggles I could name.**

**Finally, the quote with the little star next to it is from a play by some bloke called Euripides. (Fine name, that). It's really very vain for the author to quote the thing she calls herself after, but it's not as though anyone anticipates better from a muggle, anyway.**

**--Draco**

Hermione reacted first. Sharpened to a fine edge by the months on the run, by fighting this man's compatriots, by long sleepless nights and freezing cold days, weary and vigilant, she almost didn't think about what to do next; her wrist swished crisply, and she heard herself say "Stupefy!"

He was faster than he looked, she thought numbly when her spell bounced harmlessly against the tree outside the window. An instant later she realized he must have turned himself into a rat; then she had no time to think, because the Floo had flared green.

Draco was prepared to die. A sort of calm had descended over him; he knew that he was competent, and his parents, and Hermione. They could fight whatever emerged from the Floo and win, if winning was possibly; if it wasn't, he could think of no better end than this.

He had done a lot of terrible things in his life. He knew it, and if it did not bother him as it might someone like Granger, he was honest enough to admit the truth of it to himself. Some of them, mercifully, he could lay at the feet of Voldemort, but not all.

In a sense, he missed the Dark Lord's malign presence in his life; not for His sake, for Draco had nursed a hatred as deep and black as a well, but for the blessed freedom it had given him, the ultimate out. With Voldemort, he could say simply "I was only following orders. I had no choice."

It had been a lie. If these were his last moments, then he would live them with as much dignity, as much _truth,_ as he could. His was not a nature given to grand gestures or sacrifice; his selfishness was a part of him like his bones. But now, staring potential destruction in the face, he understood a little how Mother and Father had been able to let him escape with Granger, knowing it would likely mean both their deaths.

There were worse ends than this, surrounded by those he loved the very most, his parents and the girl—woman, now—for whom he'd risked damnation and planned to kill a man. Yes, worse than this by far. His sacrifice might buy them time to get away, if nothing else. And if it did not, they would cross the river hand in hand. 'Come on then. Let's see what you've got.'

To their shock, it was no Death Eater that came through, but Harry Potter, hero of the wizarding world. He jumped into the house in a tangle of limbs and uncombed hair, eyes blazing. Greeted by four drawn wands, he was unfazed. He drew as well and said simply "They're here."

Everyone relaxed. Hermione, stepping forward, said urgently "Harry, what's going on?"

"The aurors heard from somewhere that they would try and raid this house, so they've been watching it. The wards've held but they felt an unfamiliar magical signature. Dawlish is coming but--"

The screen creaked again, and Wormtail's voice. "Malfoy, please!"

Harry's face got very, very pale. Livid spots of red showed themselves on his cheeks and his hand tightened on his wand so much his fingernails went almost purple. His breath began to come in hard, strained hisses. But to his eternal credit, his temper held.

He jerked his head savagely at Draco. "Keep him talking." Draco nodded as Potter began to slip slowly from the room, relying on Malfoy to be his distraction. He'd waited four years for this day—he would finally get some small measure of revenge on the person who had cost him so very, very much.

Draco breathed deeply and stepped forward. "Why should I help you, you stupid ponce?"

"I can protect you! I have information, things you'll want to know. The girl's parents, I know what became of--"

Abruptly, Pettigrew's face fell away from the window and a terrible scream rang out. Harry gave up any pretense of stealth and raced out the back door, Hermione hard on his heels, followed by Lucius and Narcissa. Draco closed the rear, making sure to slam the door to preserve the wards.

The garden was a mystery of overgrown hedges and knee high grass. Plenty of places to hide, especially with a storm coming on. The clouds were brooding mysteriously above them, and to Draco's dismay, a fat drop struck his neck. Brilliant, now it was raining as well. Could it get worse?

Someone grabbed him. Someone strong, foul smelling. 'Greyback' his mind whispered as he was lifted like a rag doll. He kicked futilely, trying to loosen the creature's grasp on his arms. "Let me go, damn you! Weasley killed you!"

Greyback chuckled. "No. Not killed. Maimed. I've come to claim what's mine." Pressing Draco to him as a shield he stepped fully into view, the rain growing heavier even in that small span of time.

"Lucius, Narcissa.' The werewolf's nostrils flared. "_Hermione_. How good to see you again, mudblood. I look forward to renewing our acquaintance." Hermione spun and tensed, scared for Draco. "Let him go, Greyback."

Lucius stepped forward. "You've no quarrel with the boy, Fenrir. Do put him down and let's talk about this like men of sense."

"Fuck you and fuck your offer. Not a step closer or he dies. Drop your wands." They did. Draco realized suddenly he could not see Potter and prayed hard that he would get the drop on Greyback somehow; anything to keep this, this _thing_ away from Hermione and Mother.

He was falling. He hit the ground a second before the immense, foul smelling bulk of Fenrir Greyback thumped atop him like so much meat, nearly crushing him. Even with what had to be twenty one stone worth of werewolf on him, Draco cringed when he heard the next voice, the one that still haunted his dreams.

"Isn't this cozy? A whole family of traitors, is it?" She stepped out from behind a large bush. With a small start, Hermione realized the woman had taken one of her Dad's primroses and tucked it behind her ear. It was grotesque, the little yellow flower, emblem of her Dad's hard work and care, bobbing in the snarled nest of Bellatrix Lestrange's hair. " A shame I had to bind Greyback, but he was quite ruining the reunion, wouldn't you say?" The werewolf growled, rattling Draco's eardrums, and Bellatrix gave him an absent kick in the ribs. "Shut up, wolf. You'll get the girl when I'm done with them."

Bellatrix spelled Greyback off her gasping nephew and immediately trained her wand on Draco. "Come give Auntie a nice kiss, Draco dear." Draco's eyes darted to his parents and Hermione, all disarmed. He was alone, utterly helpless, and he'd never felt so powerless, so angry, in his life. He flashed on Hermione the night after the Ministry, shivering and tangled haired, her flat voice and shock dulled voice. Was this what it had been like, looking at the wrong end of a wand?

Bellatrix's mouth pulled itself into a snarl. "Looking at your mudblood, are you? I'll make you watch while Greyback--"

Narcissa's world had shrunk to two tiny pinpricks in her awareness. One was her son. The other was her sister. She didn't want to kill Bellatrix; in spite of everything the love remained there, the thousand little memories. But she would if Draco was at risk; kill her and sleep after.

Bellatrix suddenly slumped to the side, eyes rolling. Harry stepped from the shadows. "Let's keep them under until the Aurors--"

Pettigrew, having chosen that moment to run from his bolt hole, returned to human form in time to have five wands pointed at his head. The cobby little man stepped forward, hands raised to show he was unarmed, and said tearfully " I can explain!"

"Explain nothing, you cowardly piece of shi---"

"Potter! Don't do anything hasty, boy. He might be of some use to us." Lucius Malfoy decided to take charge of things, seeing as the two main threats to the well being of the group were apparently controlled. "Bind him and let's wait."

"No, Lucius! I have information, I can help you!"

"Yes, Pettigrew, defect. It worked so well last time, didn't it?" Greyback sneered from his place on the moss below the trees. Pettigrew turned at the sound of his voice and made as though to go closer. Harry stepped up. "Don't move."

Another crack of thunder, closer and heavier. Pettigrew whirled and made a frantic dive for Greyback's wand. He missed Harry's stunning spell by a hair and used the wand to press his Dark Mark. The air was suddenly thick with the distinctive Crack-Pop of Apparation.

And then it was battle. From the corner of his eye, Lucius saw Hermione fell Amycus Carrow with a well place stupefy; beside her, his wife calmly dueled Dolohov, more than holding her own against the ancient, wily wizard.

Draco was in the thick of it. Conscious thought had long since fled. He was aware that some primal urge within him was screaming for blood and that he would obey it. That was all. He would defend what was his. There was no more consideration, no more morality, than that. He stepped toward the werewolf and raised his wand, meaning to end it, finally, to kill the thing that terrorized them all, the thing that gave Hermione nightmares she wouldn't admit to having.

Something hit him, something hard and hot. He went down, scrabbling at it, and realized it was a person. The smell was terrible, not the charnel reek of Greyback but a dusty smell of disuse, a smell of rot made worse by the rain, now pouring over them in freezing torrents. Pettigrew, he understood, and blindly stabbed with his wand, afraid to cast a spell which might hit one of his. Pettigrew grunted from above him and dug his nails into Draco's neck, drawing blood. Draco bit.

Hermione found she'd snapped back into battle as readily as if she'd never left it. After knocking Amycus unconscious, she turned her attention to a cloaked shape she was sure was Rudolphus Lestrange. He was crafty, whomever he was, and fast. She cast a quick jelly legs jinx and dodged as a spell flew so close she could feel it on her cheek as it passed. Draco was grappling with Pettigrew, she noticed, and stepped forward to help, hating the way the black cloaks blended into the sheeting rain and the shadows of the garden.

Harry too was approaching, splashing through mud puddles and jumping downed Death Eaters. He blasted Avery hard in the sternum and he fell, knocked into a tree, as the two young people came upon the writhing, clawing mass that was a combination of Draco and Wormtail.

Wormtail rolled off, gasping. His arm bore a bloody, torn bite mark, and he mewled hideously as he made his way to his feet. Harry raised his wand, meaning to stun him so they could finally bring him to justice, when the door to the house flew open and three aurors ran out.

The Death Eaters took advantage of the momentary distraction to DisApperate, most of them with wounded comrades in tow. Someone had unbound Greyback, and he roared defiantly as he Apparated with Bellatrix slung over a shoulder.

Draco stood, shaking all over, blood pouring down his neck. He spun and ran to Hermione, flinging his arms about her and squeezing hard, needing to know she was all right. She hugged him back, shuddering all over, until an auror came and led them inside.

Ten minutes later, dressed in dry clothes, all of them sat in the parlour. They were fortunate no one had been badly wounded. Draco's neck had been healed, though he would need salve to prevent scarring. He hadn't let go of Hermione's hand since they had come downstairs, and to her surprise his parents seemed willing to tolerate it.

Harry was another story. He virtually vibrated with rage. He was furious at having missed Pettigrew again. He sat in the chair across from the divan, trembling slightly, clearly making an effort to make polite responses to the Malfoys and Tibby, who'd made tea for everyone.

To everyone's surprise, one of the aurors was Kingsley Shacklebolt, currently attired in a hastily dried robe, spattered with mud, looking pensive. He was speaking to Lucius Malfoy, who looked angrier than Hermione had seen him in years.

" You understand we cannot leave the children here, after this. They will be back, and in greater numbers."

"You don't know--"

"Even if that's all there are, with Greyback and Bellatrix leading them, they could cause unimaginable chaos, not to mention all the sympathizers and collaborators running free. We've been very co-operative, Minister. All we ask is a little of the same."

"I understand that, Mr. Malfoy, but the political climate--"

"Will not improve on hearing there are hoards of Death Eaters eager to slaughter those they blame for their failure in their beds. Or do you suppose this would encourage public faith in the Ministry?"

Shacklebolt turned to Hermione. "What do you think, Hermione?" Hermione took a sip of her tea and nodded slowly. "I'm not eager to leave home, of course, but since Draco and I plan to be married soon anyway, it seems like this would be an ideal--"

Harry held up a hand. "Wait a moment. How did they know where to find Hermione?"

Everyone froze. "Who knows the children are here, Minister?" Narcissa's eyes went to Hermione as a terrible thought bloomed in her mind. Without thinking she leant over to seize the girl's other hand and held it gently. Let it not be that, please.

"Yourself and Mr. Malfoy, Andromeda Tonks, the Weasleys, Harry, myself, a few aurors and--" Shacklebolt's face went a dreadful grey. He sat up very straight and took a sip of his tea. He didn't know how to say the next part, but Hermione saved him the trouble. He was strangely grateful to her for it, awful as he felt to feel a thing like that.

"Mundungus. He knew where the house was."

"That doesn't mean he's dead."

Hermione held up her hand. "If they have him, it's better than them keeping him alive. And if he's alive, then he's a traitor." Her voice was very level, calm and she set her tea cup down with hands that did not shake. "Is there some way to find out, Kingsley?"

"I'll get a search started at once. For now, though, I agree that staying here is no longer workable. I'll order the final sweep tonight; you ought to be able to move into the manor tomorrow by supper time." Kingsley stood and made to leave, the aurors proceeding him.

"For whatever it's worth to you, Hermione, I am very sorry this came up. Would you feel safer with extra security tonight? I could leave Dawlish and Rackham."

"Thank you, Kingsley, but no. I feel very safe with the Malfoys and Harry here."

He nodded, thinking he'd never thought he'd see the day when any muggle born felt safe with Lucius Malfoy. He kissed Hermione's cheek and followed the aurors, dreading what they would probably find.

Harry turned to Hermione. "Do you want me to stay, Hermione?"

"If you'd like to, Harry. We've room on the couch."

The Malfoys exchanged a look. Properly, Hermione ought to have told Harry he'd have to ask Lucius and Draco both for permission, but in this circumstance, they would save the lecture for later. Harry shook his head tiredly. "No, I want to go back to Grimmauld place. Kreacher has fits if I'm not back in time for dinner."

Draco felt as though he should add something. "Potter, thank you for…out there."

"S'all right, Malfoy. "

"Firecall if you need anything."

Harry nodded. "I meant to thank you for that night, anyway."

"You're welcome."

They nodded. Then slowly, cautiously, Harry extended a hand. Draco extended one back, and they shook. Harry stepped through the Floo and was gone.

The second he was gone, Narcissa flew to Draco and hugged him hard. "My darling, are you all right?"

"Fine, Mother. Are you?"

"Yes, of course. Father and I are just glad you and Hermione aren't hurt." She released her little boy and stepped back, studying the wounds on his neck before going to Hermione.

In the meantime, Lucius had put an arm about her and gently pushed her toward the divan, holding her tightly in case she should swoon. He settled her down and, taking the blanket, tucking it about her waist. Narcissa came and stood in front of her, kneeling so they were face to face.

"Why don't you go and put on your nightgown, Hermione? Father and I shall stay the night here, and then tomorrow we'll all go home. I'm sure that whole…incident…was very tiring for you. We'll have your supper sent up. Can you walk? Yes? Go on, there's a love."

"Please, Mother, I'd rather stay here. I can help watch as well as anyone."

Draco knew he needed to intervene before this turned into a battle of wills that Granger could not possibly win. He grabbed father's sleeve and tugged, then whispered in his ear.

"Father, please. Granger's scared of the dark, and she doesn't much like thunder, either. I'm sure she can't bear the thought of being alone tonight. Couldn't she stay down here?" Neither of those things were exactly true, but Draco rationalized that Hermione would never just tell them what was the matter.

Lucius straightened. "Darling, perhaps it would be best to keep her with us for a while. If she should be too frightened to cry out, we'd have no idea she needed us."

Narcissa considered. It was obvious that Hermione wanted to stay. She personally felt as though the girl ought to be put to bed as soon as possible, hopefully after a good long cry with her head in Narcissa's lap and a mug of hot, milky tea to encourage sleepiness.

On the other hand, sometimes these things did take a while to penetrate at emotional level. She stood and stroked Hermione's hair for a few moments, murmuring. "Are you sure, Lucius? She's so awfully frail."

"Tibby, do you remember where Hamm's is? The apothecary?"

"Yes, Master, we is remembering."

"Good. Have Hamm send strengthening potions enough for us all, with some especially for Hermione. Have them add it to the 'Trachis' account."

Lucius turned to Hermione and said, trying to distract her "George Hamm, do you know him?"

"No, Father. Should I?"

"His family have been apothecaries to the Malfoys for four hundred years. He'll have us fixed right up. And Tibby, do stop at Andromeda's and get Madam and I some bed clothes, especially dressing gowns. Go, idiot!"

Hermione winced, but Tibby was totally unfased, and back in a flash with the garments and the promise that the potions ought to be there in less than twenty minutes. She was sent upstairs with the little elf, who was torn between being beyond thrilled the whole family was together and simply torn apart by what had happened, often in the same sentence.

Freshly bathed and dressed in her longest nightgown, Hermione came back down to find the family silently looking out the window. Draco rose, smiling, and she saw the tiredness in his face. "Come into the other room with me, Granger."

Hermione found her eyes flickering to Narcissa, who nodded, clearly pleased. The two slipped into the room on the other side of the corridor and faced one another. Then her face was in his shoulder and his chin was atop her head.

"You scared the life out of me, Granger! Don't ever do that again!"

" You've always known I was like this."

"I suppose. Still' he smiled, not terribly nicely' I expect a little chat wouldn't go amiss, do you?"

Hermione stiffened. "Be fair. We were under attack, you can't want me to run and hide when I'm needed." That was precisely what Draco would have liked to see happen, but he knew Granger wouldn't be sensible about things and he'd simply have to find a way around her.

Thoughts for another night. "I don't know. It's been a long time since you've had maintenance, and we both know my little girl needs a smacked bum if she isn't to get fussy and petulant."

"_You're_ accusing _me_ of petulance, Draco Lucius Malfoy?"

Draco mock scowled. "Watch it, Hermione Jane, or I'll have those little knickers down this second." Granger wiggled, and Draco hugged her tighter to let her know he was half teasing. "Not to mention, I think a certain someone rather likes it sometimes. Not the smacking, but the attention afterword. Isn't that so?"

Hermione snuggled into Draco's neck. "I always feel so good after. Safe and cozy."

"You are safe, love." 'And I will do absolutely anything to keep you that way', he thought to himself. After nearly murdering Dumbledore, most things seemed reasonable indeed.

"I asked you in to tell you that I…ah…I ought to have taken you more seriously, perhaps. When you said about the Ministry. You know…" He shrugged, and Hermione held him closer.

"It was long ago. We were both different people. I thought what you did was very brave, attacking Wormtail that way."

He hadn't precisely attacked Wormtail so much as been attacked, but who's to let semantics get in the way of perfectly good adoration? Draco gave her a final squeeze and stepped away.

"I realized tonight how much things have changed."

Hermione snorted. "Yes, nearly dying does that to one. You're all right, aren't you?"

Draco nodded. He supposed he was being silly; all those memories would return to the ether were they belonged. "We'd best go, darling, before they come and look for us."

Tibby made them all a supper they choked down, and then potions after. Hermione gagged her double dose, feeling it unfair she had to take so much but not wishing to push her luck.

After, Lucius asked Hermione to select an appropriate volume from the shelves. "Pureblood families often read aloud in the evenings. Do choose something improving, Hermione."

Handing Lucius the book, she took her place between Narcissa and Draco on the divan, snuggling a little into Malfoy and relaxing by degrees. Narcissa spread the blanket over both children, noticing they both seemed to be struggling to stay awake. She was tired, of course, but she couldn't allow herself to relax without seeing her duty done. Hermione, especially, needed reassurance and care.

Lucius opened the book and began to read, his deep, slow voice wonderfully soothing in this capacity. Hermione's eyes drifted shut of their own accord. Her breathing evened, and within fifteen minutes, worn out from the fighting, she was asleep, head pillowed on Draco's shoulder.

Draco smiled down at his sweet little girl, whose head had fallen on his shoulder. He rose and lifted her in his arms, followed by his mother. They got her into bed without waking her, and Narcissa climbed in after. It was not at all ususual for Purebloods to share beds with people of the same gender, and at Hermione's age, Narcissa had often climbed in with one of her sisters to chatter and giggle.

Hermione murmured and Narcissa shushed her. "Darling, shhh. We're here." Draco was busy transfiguring the desk chair into a little camp bed, and grumbling a bit, climbed into it, pulling a jumper transfigured into a blanket over himself. He was to rest, and Father would come and wake him at 2.00 AM.

Downstairs, Lucius continued to read. He had absolutely no intention of waking Draco; the boy had been through too much, and needed to feel protected just as Hermione did. He read on, drinking from a glass of cold water Tibby kept full for him.

His eyes were drawn to the window as he read a certain passage.

"…No longer need I veil my dread 'neath words,-lest thou devise against my child some cureless ill. Wherefore I will take precautions ere our troubles come. For 'tis better for me to incur thy hatred now, lady, than to soften my heart and bitterly repent it hereafter."*

He shook his head. Stuff and nonsense. It had nothing to do with anything that had happened. But he couldn't shake the feeling it tied in somehow, like an omen.


	34. Chapter 34

** Firstly, thanks to everyone who wrote back. It quite brightened my day, especially because Madea was being terribly grumpy about some of my ideas ( **_His ideas all involve singlehanded winning the house cup while Ron gets eaten by the giant squid--MR_**_)._ They don't either. One of them involved the Triwizard Cup and a pack of rabid selkies.**

** Second, a special thank you my darling Countess Black. She tends to be a moderating influence on the author's wilder excesses, besides treating me the way I deserve.**

**Thirdly: April, my dear, Father sends his regards. And I know _precisely_ what you mean. She was really very mean about the improvements I made to that essay--is it my fault her Professor is a humourless git? (** _No, he isn't. He just didn't like the fact you changed my essay to reflect your belief that muggle history is 'a waste of bloody time, now let her alone so she can write'. MR**)**_

**Finally, I'd love to hear from you. And Madea would as well, I suppose--she absolutely _pouts_ if she doesn't get reviews.**

**Draco**

Draco stretched out on his bed, shoes off, and sighed with joy. It was so good to be home. His own rooms, his own bed, his parents down the hall, and his little girl in the room next to Mother's for the time being. He could go to any of them any time he liked and they would be there, ready to have a conversation or share a snack or just be together. He wasn't sure he'd ever been so happy. He flashed on being tiny, really tiny, and waiting for Father to come home.

First the door would open, and Father would step through, dropping his cloak on a chair so the elf could hang it up. Draco would rise giggling from his place on the floor and run to be picked up, yelling for Mother to come and see. Father would swing him up, kissing his cheek, and settle him against his chest. Father was the tallest, strongest person in the whole world in those days, and nothing bad could ever, ever happen while he was there. Draco smiled, remembering that, and rolled on his side.

That felt a bit like this, he supposed, the overwhelming joy at someone else's presence. He rose and, donning his shoes, went to find Hermione. Mother and Father had gone to Andromeda's to see how she was getting on and try to convince her to leave the muggle hovel she was living in and come stay in the manor where she belonged. As a widow, her place was properly with Lupin's family, but as the man's parents and siblings had fled to Australia after the first War, Lucius felt responsible for her.

Draco walked down the hall, savoring the smell of beeswax and incense and cake baking from the kitchens and silk and perfume. Roses, most of all. The sterling vases were stuffed with them, all kinds, white and mauve and Titian red-golds and the Tyrian velvets that looked black in some lights and deep purple in others.

He knocked at Mother's door and got no answer. He eased it open and found her sitting in a chair by the fire, reading, the only think visible her cloud of wiry hair. Draco felt overwhelmed for a moment by the emotions that seeing her like this brought forth and blinked back tears, of all the foolish things. He was turning right sentimental in his old age, he thought with a smirk.

Draco knew he ought to creep out quietly, leaving Hermione to rest. Mother had decided she would be taking it very gently the next few days; moving had been quite traumatic, the thinking went, and the poor little thing needed time to acclimate herself to finally living in a proper home.

Draco snorted. 'If only they knew…'. He'd decided to have that little chat with Granger before they'd left, and quite a good one it had been, too. It had to last them a while, since it was very unlikely that they'd have a chance to …discuss things…before they were married. And Granger had made great strides in what seemed to be her life goal, giving Draco the fright of his life at least once a day.

He'd woken to find only Mother in the bed. He rose, not bothering with slippers, and came down the stairs, all sorts of horrible images in his head. As soon as it made it to the landing, he'd seen the flash of wiry hair and that absurd blue dressing gown she wore sometimes.

Relief pounding in his veins, Draco came onto the landing prepared to give Granger the sharp side of his tongue. "Granger, what the hell are you about? No, don't tell me, just get upstairs and straight back to bed before I wallop you until you can't sit for a m—morning, Father. You're looking well." Draco's face had gone a deep pink, as had Granger's, but Lucius only smirked and gestured for Draco to come fully down the stairs.

"Hermione indicated she couldn't sleep and I gave her permission to sit up with me. I take it you disapprove?"

"No, Father. I wouldn't gainsay you in this." Draco squirmed. He felt it was bad for Granger to see him getting scolded, no matter how gently or subtly, but it wasn't as though he could say anything, Merlin knew. So he contented himself with a meaningful look at Granger and took up a place on the divan.

A moment later, more footsteps. "Hermione, get back into bed this instant. I have half a mind to tell Father and he'd—oh, hello, Lucius." Narcissa came down the stairs at a rapid clip, not a hair out of place despite her lawn nightgown and the sleep she was blinking from her eyes.

"Good morning, Narcissa." Lucius reached out to brush his wife's hand with his for a moment. Narcissa smiled, beautiful teeth flashing, and gave each of the children a kiss. "Darlings, are you aware it is 5.30 in the morning?"

"Yes, Mother. I kept hearing noises so I wanted to--"

"You came to Father to be comforted! Good girl, Hermione." Narcissa beamed and patted Hermione's shoulder. Draco, concealed from Mother's view, grinned too, but it was much less friendly than Narcissa's. 'Let's see you wiggle out of this one, Granger.'

Hermione looked right back at her. "I was sure I was just hearing things, but…"

Narcissa shook her head. "No, no, dearest, you needn't explain. Though Draco and myself would have been more than happy to help, wouldn't we, love?"

Draco, rather irked that things hadn't happened more amusingly, nodded his head. "Of course." Really, how did Granger always manage to get on like a cat amongst pixies? Bloody unfair, really.

It was getting light by the time breakfast was ready. Tibby had made lumpy porridge and toast burnt to resemble charcoal, with a thick glaze of marmalade frescoed atop it. They ate in silence, trying to force themselves to look happy as Tibby watched them, alternately pleased and heartbroken to be leaving the muggle house they had stayed in for so long.

After breakfast they congregated for the last time in the parlour. Narcissa had a word with Tibby and then came to sit next to her husband. "Hermione, my darling, you must promise me you'll rest today. Tibby will do all your packing, absolutely everything. You're only to rest, you've a very big day today."

"Draco, you'll see she rests, won't you?" Draco smiled winningly at his mother. "Of course, Mother. I know just how to get her to sleep, don't I, Hermione?" Granger had nodded and looked away. Licked her lips a bit.

As soon as the Malfoys had left, Draco had put Hermione over his shoulder and carried her to her room. "Malfoy! I can walk!"

"You heard Mother. I'm to see you don't strain yourself today, and I intend to do just that."

He put her down and sat on her bed, immediately flipping her over his knee and taking her skirt up. Studying her knickers clad backside, Draco heaved a huge sigh of contentment and gave his little girl a pat on the bum.

"Now then, Hermione Jane, you scared the life out of me this morning. Is there anything you'd like to say?"

"I didn't mean to, truly. I thought a heard a noise and--"

SMACK! "Went to investigate?"

Hermione tried to wiggle into a more comfortable position. "Well, yes, but I did go and get Father."

"Yes, you did, and that's why you're getting the spatula. If I thought you'd tried to go exploring, I'd send Tibby looking for a switch to use on you. Are you supposed to get up and go looking for trouble, Hermione?"

"No, sir. But like I said, it's my nature."

"I know. Are you supposed to get out of bed after you've been tucked in?"

"No, sir."

"I think you know the consequences for that kind of behavior."

Hermione found herself squirming hard as he smacked her. It had been a rather long time since she'd been punished last, and as much as she hated the humiliation and vulnerability the whole thing entailed, she was glad for the chance to purge the emotions from last night's conflict.

Draco pressed a hand to her back, rubbing soothingly. "Let it out, there's a love. You were awfully brave about everything that's happened, but you're only a very little girl, and it frightens me when my darling isn't where I think she is. She's awfully little to go wandering, isn't she? If she were in trouble, I wouldn't know."

Hermione felt embarrassed and loved and amused and slightly regretful all at the same time. She used to hate it when Draco talked to her this way, but now it made her feel safe. He only ever did this with her; she would always be protected with him. He accepted and even encouraged her need to release her emotions this way, and seemed to enjoy helping her achieve a state where that was possible.

"I didn't m-mean to scare you."

"Of course you didn't. But little girls don't stop and think, do they? They just get carried away." Draco felt a deep well of contentment inside himself. He was going home, Hermione was coming with him, and everyone he loved would be under the same roof. He could finally rest a little.

"There's my good girl. Can you be very brave and go and get the spatula, love, or shall I have Tibby bring it up?"

Hermione sniffled and stood, tugging her skirt down. "I'll go. Tibby has enough to worry about, with packing and all." She made her way out the door and quickly dashed down the stair, praying that Draco's parents didn't choose that moment to step through the Floo—she was quite fond of them these days, but that didn't mean they needed to see this element of she and Draco's relationship.

Spatula in hand, Hermione trotted back and sat, right side up, on Draco's lap. "Malfoy?"

"Hmmm?" Draco closed his arms around her and bounced lightly, relishing her squeal of faux-protest and the soft giggle that came after. Hermione secretly adored being played with this way, he thought with a smirk. He just had to show her that she liked it.

"Thank you."

"For what, precious?"

Hermione snuggled closer. "For convincing Father to let me stay."

Draco hugged her to him. "Didn't want you and Mother getting into a spat. She'd have won, you know."

"I know she means well."

"I think it rather startled her you didn't react a bit more about the… news."

Hermione swallowed. "Yes, well. Just because Mundungus—it doesn't mean we shan't find them. Is it horrible of me to not feel worse about poor Dung, though?"

Draco kissed her neck. "Way I see it, he knew the risks about the way he lived and made his choice anyhow. It's inexcusable that they chose someone like him to be Secret Keeper to start with. May as well've used Mrs. Norris."

Hermione considered. "She probably wouldn't have stolen as many spoons. Every time he came for a meeting, Molly would have to count the cutlery after."

Draco snorted, picturing the red headed Weasley matriarch jealously guarding the sterling against the predations of the smelly little man they'd chosen, in a wholly characteristic moment of total idiocy, as the Secret Keeper for Hermione's parents.

"No doubt. Are you going to be a big girl and bare yourself, or shall I help you?" Hermione stood and pulled her skirt up before lying across Malfoy's knee, wriggling herself into a more comfortable position.

"Well done, Hermione. If my little girl keeps this up, we might have to see about a later bedtime." Then he picked up the spatula and laid in.

SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT

After, Hermione shifted on Draco's lap, still sniffling a little. She slowly reached a hand back to rub and was intercepted with an amused "I see that, Granger." Hermione dropped her hand, smiling a little in embarrassment, and nuzzled into his shirt front.

"Why were you up so early, anyway?"

Hermione shrugged. "I kept hearing noises, is all. So I went downstairs and your father said I could stay." She reached up and cupped Draco's face. His cheek was slightly rough under her fingers and she smiled, stroking her thumb along the fine blond fuzz.

"Up you get, Granger, we're putting you down for your nap a bit early."

"May I have some lotion, sir? Before I nap?"

"What pretty manners we have once we've been reminded. Roll over, love, and I'll put some on." She did, and Draco carefully massaged the muggle lotion (last time they'd have to use it!) onto her flesh, making sure to lightly rub the sting away. Hermione sighed, relaxing, and Draco kissed the top of her head.

"Draco? Is everything all right?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, fine."

"How do you feel about all this? What happened, going home."

"I'm pleased, of course."

"That's all? You feel all right with what happened?"

"I'm not happy but I'm also not terribly surprised. Bellatrix was always vindictive, and Greyback…I'd rather like to finish what Weasley started."

He waited for the shocked denunciations, the protesting about second chances. Nothing came. Draco gently poked Hermione's ribs, producing a small grumble from the drowsing witch.

"No outrage from my little girl? No scolding about forgiveness?"

Hermione shook her head. "The war hardened all of us. I've seen what he's capable of, Draco, and I—I don't think he deserves a second chance."

Draco blinked. "I suppose that's good, then."

"You sound unsure."

Draco didn't know how to articulate what he was feeling. "It's different, is all."

"As different as you and Harry getting on?" Granger smirked at him, opening one eye, and Draco looked away.

"Yes, well, don't think I've gone soft. It's simply expedient for he and I to maintain civil relations. And I wouldn't want my little girl to think she couldn't have her friends over to play, as long as she asked nicely beforehand."

"Do you suppose we'll be married soon?"

"I should think, love. If I regret going home at all, it's because we'll have no opportunities to do things like this. Mother and Father have been very indulgent in the past, but they'll start enforcing the rules now that we all live together. Not that they shouldn't, but I do wish there was a way for us to have some time in private."

"There is."

"Why am I not surprised you've a plan? Go on, then."

"Teach me legilimency."

"Pardon?"

"You said you knew, and they should be satisfied that we need privacy and quiet."

"Granger…"

"Would it bring back unpleasant memories?"

Draco took two very deep breaths. "Darling, when one is learning, it's rather a…a two way process. There's things in my mind that I'd rather you never…" He looked as though he were scanning some inner wasteland, a dark and barren place where no sun would ever shine and the water was still and deep and poison.

Hermione sat and put her arms round his neck. "Let's forget I brought it up."

Draco shook his head. "It's a good plan, and perhaps you're right. If you should fall into the wrong hands, I'd want your mind to be protected. Let me talk to Father and see what he says."

"Not if it's going to make you uncomfortable."

Draco made himself ignore the cold stream of terror that the very idea evoked in him. He vividly remembered having his mind flayed open by his mad aunt, the _violation _of the thing. The thought of the same thing being done to Hermione, her mind shredded and torn and ripped to pieces, was too much.

He held her more tightly against him, and they lay down. Hermione slept. He did not. He was playing things over and over again in his mind, opening dark inner rooms where things writhed and shuffled and gibbered, and making himself look at them. Held her tighter and wept a bit, but looked, and did not blink.

The Malfoys came at 2.00. Narcissa embraced both children. "Are you ready, my darlings?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Was Hermione obedient about allowing Tibby to pack, Draco?"

"She was, Mother, though I did permit her to oversee the packing of her mementos."

Narcissa nodded. "Yes, of course. And you, love, are you well?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Have you said your goodbyes?"

Hermione nodded, eyes rather brighter than usual. "It isn't as though I'll never be back. And I'm rather looking forward to a whole new adventure."

"It is that.' Lucius leant over and patted the girl carefully, smiling. At some level, he was aware of his instinctive distaste at touching a mudblood and reflexively suppressed it. At another, he found he rather liked Granger; she'd been quite splendid in the fight the night before. Almost like a young Bellatrix, all cleverness and ferocity and ideals.

He hoped she would take a more…moderate…approach to things, of course, but he could see a million ways to help her use those skills to their advantage. And that was what he and Cissy were doing, wasn't it, guiding her?

Hermione dropped her head, slightly embarrassed. When she was answering a question in class, she never felt like the center of attention, exactly; the knowledge was the important thing and she was merely a conduit for it. She knew all the people in this room meant her well, but it was still strange, to be the center of so much friendly interest.

Tibby picked up the school trunk and muggle valise she was taking that night; they'd send elves back for her books and whatever incidentals had been missed. Hermione allowed herself to be helped into the Floo. Lucius threw in a handful of powder, and as the world began to spin, he called "Malfoy manor!"

Hermione blinked when she saw Malfoy looking at her from across the room. She'd smelled his cologne and looked up, smiling with pleasure at his presence.

"Draco?"

He would have answered but the oldest house elf Hermione had ever seen, even older than Kreacher, popped into view. The ancient thing was wrapped in an handkerchief, blinking rheumy eyes, skin hanging in green swags. It was so old that its gender was not apparent until it spoke.

"We is Lemmy. Madam is telling us we is taking care of Miss while she is being gone. How is Lemmy serving Miss?"

"It's nice to meet you, Lemmy. I'm sure I don't need anything right now, but--"

The wizened elf fixed Hermione with a gimlet eye. "Madam is saying Miss is resting quietly while she is being gone, unless she is needing something." Draco grinned, safely hidden from Lemmy's view. Granger had just made the easy mistake. This was going to be even funnier than watching Hermione and Mother.

"I feel very well, and Draco and I were just--"Lemmy turned and gave Draco a Look even more finely honed than Narcissa's.

"Madam is saying Miss is resting. Lemmy is thinking young Master is staying, as long as Miss is resting. Otherwise, Lemmy is telling Madam that Miss is not obeying." Nicely backed into a corner, Hermione allowed herself to be draped in a lap robe as another elf pulled up another a chair beside Hermione's for Draco to sit in.

"Well, my darling, how is it?"

"Beautiful. You must be thrilled to be back."

"I can't wait to show you everything. The grounds, the ball room, the solarium."

"Perhaps Mother will let us explore later."

Draco had an idea. "Lemmy, are you to chaperone Miss and I?"

"We is chaperoning, young Master."

"I should like to take Miss to see my things. Come with us."

"Miss is resting, young Master."

"Of course she is, but it's a very short walk. Or I could always just carry her."

Lemmy's propriety was offended at this, and so the three set off on foot, to make the grueling ten meter trek to the other suite of rooms. Hermione, stepping inside, felt much the same as Malfoy had on seeing her little yellow space; it was as Draco-like a room as there would ever be.

The walls were dark wood, carved with such skill that she could not see a single seam. The bed matched them, draped in thick wool curtains. There was a desk, an open gardrobe which evidentially held Quidditch gear, and several shelves of books. Several inviting chairs sat before the fireplace, and the rug on the floor was thick and warm under her feet.

Hermione noticed something on one of the shelves. Looking to Draco, she crossed the room at his nod and plucked it from the shelves. It was a stuffed dragon, a Hungarian horntail, battered and well loved. Several of the feet looked as though they'd been gnawed on in the distant past, and the wings were creased.

"What's his name?"

"Basil." Draco came and took the dragon, haughtily straightening the wings and smoothing the worn plush of the dragon's belly, and then handed it—him—back. "Shall we make plans to formally introduce him to the badger, or should an informal get together be enough?"

Hermione laughed. "I don't know. There must be books of etiquette in the library."

"Mmm, yes, but I'm taking you there last of all. Won't get you out again for days."

A discreet cough at the door announced Lucius' presence. "Children, it's time to dress for supper."

Draco watched her go, feeling that bubble of happiness and excitement in his chest. Lucius saw the look in his son's eyes and blinked. His little boy had grown up somehow when he wasn't watching, and there were parts of Draco's life that belonged solely to him and the girl he was watching so warmly.

Draco turned to his father and the moment faded, lost in Draco's excitement at being home. Lucius smiled and cupped his son's shoulder. "I think it was wise, allowing Hermione to move in a bit early, don't you?"

"Yes, Father."

"Mother thinks she needs time to settle in."

"She seems to be doing well so far."

Lucius nodded. "Has she mentioned what happened last night?"

Draco summarized the conversation. Lucius frowned thoughtfully, pleasantly surprised at what he was hearing. "War changes us all, I expect. She was quite vicious in the garden." From Lucius, this was praise and Draco agreed whole heartedly.

"Do you suppose he's dead? Fletcher, I mean."

"Beyond question. Hermione's assessment was spot on, I thought. Although she forgot the third option, and I feel it's the likeliest."

"What is it?"

"He was selling them information and outlived his usefulness. They'd never let him join formally, you know that."

Draco thought on something he'd heard a year earlier. "He was the one who was finding them candidates to fill the ranks, wasn't he? Shumsley or Shocksley was a mate of his, is that right?"

"Shunpike, yes. Handed him over after Rookwood and Collins paid him a visit, as I recall. And any number of others."

"Is it possible that one of the ones he sold came after him?"

"Eminently. Wouldn't you?"

Draco nodded grimly, looking older and harder. "I'd cut out his liver and lights with a potions stirrer for a thing like that."

"Of course you would. Hurry along and get ready, there's the boy."

Lucius left, deep in thought. His son's tactical sense was coming along rather nicely. He was glad he hadn't shared any of this with Hermione; the poor child would be overcome with emotion at some point because of all this like it was. No point in making it worse than it had to be.

He wondered whether Fletcher's mangled corpse would ever be found. Probably not; Greyback's tastes might have led him to younger prey by preference, but he'd hardly forsake a meal because of them. Lucius wrinkled his nose and went to change, determined not to think about it much.

Dressed in semi formal robes, hair pinned neatly, Hermione met Draco on the stairs. "You look wonderful, love."

"You do as well. Blue suits you."

Draco smiled. "I like them, too. One of Father's that I borrowed to wear round the house." He led her into the dining room. His parents had yet to arrive and so they stole a kiss. Draco hugged his darling little girl, and murmured softly "Welcome home, Hermione. Welcome home."

The house in Darlington was quiet. Everything lay as though fallow, waiting for use again. A window in the attic had proved just opening enough for a small animal, a rat, say, to breech, and now, turned back into a man, the rat opened the doors for his compatriots.

They smashed whatever could be smashed, ripped open the furniture and tore the pages out of the many, many books which lay about. Greyback didn't care about any of that.

He followed her scent up the stairs and into the first bedroom on the left. She'd lain here recently, and young Malfoy with her. He could smell tears. Her hairbrush, with a few hairs in it, and a container of lotion which smelled like Lucius' spawn.

Seizing the pillow, he breathed deeply. It enraged him that he could smell the other male on it. Growling, he ripped it open, sending feathers everywhere in a shower of white.

He walked out without another glance. She wasn't here anymore. But he knew where to find her. Leaving the thoroughly ransacked house, he began the long journey to claim his prize.


	35. Chapter 35

**Lucius Malfoy, damn his eyes, somehow contrived to force me to write this note, so I have. Likely it relates to that muggle woman and her little story. Why Malfoy should wish to do anything for a muggle is beyond me, not that he'll tell me anything, the smug bastard.**

**First, thanks to all the muggles who suffered through the last chapter and wrote a comment. I commend your resolve.**

**I'm to thank Countess Black as well. The muggle woman is profoundly grateful for her help. She ought to be; Countess Black must have the patience of a saint to put up with all them day in and day out. I wouldn't. Draco alone could drive a person slowly insane, and along with the rest of them...I shudder to think.**

**Not that either Malfoy needs his ego stroked, but leave a message or I'll have to listen to them whinge.**

**There, Lucius, you great arse, does that suffice?**

**Severus Snape, Potions Master**

Hermione frowned and carefully fit the sheath of paper back into the binding, frowning a little. Her tongue was poking out the corner of her mouth, and an errant curl dropped across her forehead, making her huff. Draco thought she looked adorable.

"Malfoy?"

"Hmmm?"

"Was it very bad? I know Father didn't want to say."

There was a good reason Father hadn't wanted to say. Draco took a swallow of pumpkin juice and tried to buy himself a little time. Hermione was in no mood. She put the book down and shoved her hair out of her eyes.

"Draco?"

"It was bad."

She sipped her own juice. "The important thing is no one was hurt. And it isn't as though Mum and Dad will ever know." Draco's breath caught for a second and then released. He pressed her hand and wished for a moment they were not home, after all. He imagined her weight in his arms and hardened. Forcing the picture away, Draco rose and tugged her to her feet.

"Let's take a walk. The rose garden is really lovely this time of year." Hermione nodded and they went through the glass doors and onto the terrace, and down the stone steps into the garden, Tibby following at the discreet distance and then making herself invisible. The smell of flowers enveloped them like a shroud.

"Your mother is right to be proud. I've never seen more beautiful roses."

Draco gently guided Hermione to the stone bench and sat down beside her. The roses grew above them, holding them in shadowy tendrils, and Hermione felt as though they were the last people on earth. Beside her, Draco took a deep breath. "It was like this, Granger…"

When Tibby appeared, wailing like some prophet of doom, they'd been eating. She fell to her knees next to Hermione's chair and started pounding her head, kissing her shoe and begging forgiveness at the top of her lungs.

"Tibby? Draco, what's she doing? Why--"

Lucius cleared his throat and all sound ceased at once. Hermione noticed that even Draco  
sat still and listened respectfully. Narcissa smiled to reassure her, and Hermione made herself smile back despite the way her skin had begun to tingle slightly.

"Tibby, is there some particular reason you've interrupted our meal to make a spectacle of yourself, or were you simply bored?"  
"We is bad elf! Bad, bad Tibby! Tibby should iron ears!" Hermione opened her mouth to protest and Narcissa shook her head sternly and gave her a Look. As head of the household, it was Lucius' job to discipline errant elves.

"I am not especially inclined to disagree, given the ruckus you're making. Again, is there some plausible reason for this?"

"Madam is ordering Tibby back to the muggle house and we is going, and it is being terrible! Dreadful!"

The world had got quiet. Hermione felt as though someone had hit a mute button, like on the telly; all she could hear was the conversation between her father in law to be and the elf. Across from her, Draco swallowed the bite of toast in his mouth and silently willed it to be the usual house elf stupidity and not something serious.

"Would you care to enlighten us, or shall I simply hex you and save myself the bother?"  
"Ruined! It is being ruined! Oh, poor Miss! Poor Miss! What can Tibby be doing to fix this?" The elf started punching herself in the nose and Hermione took a deep breath, willing away the fear that  
welled in her stomach.

"Draco, go to my study and take Tibby with you. Narcissa, take Hermione upstairs, Lirry will send your food up to you. Minky' another elf appeared and bowed, trembling 'you will serve Miss until Tibby has returned." Draco shoved his chair away from the table and rose at once, still hoping this was some minor problem the elf had blown wholly out of proportion. He rather doubted it, but hopesprings, if not eternal, then dandelion like. He followed the blubbering elf, making himself believe that everything would work out.

Hermione blinked when Narcissa's hand came down gently on her shoulder. "Hurry, love, must obey Father." Everything in the younger witch ordered her forcefully to rebel, but remembering the promise she had made to Lucius in the bedroom of her house—the very house they were excluding her from—she rose and followed her mother in law into the airy corridors of the manor.

The second the door was closed, Lucius drew on the elf. "You—are—an—idiot. How dare you upset the ladies this way? I have half a mind to cruciate you and then feed you to Madam's Carnivorous Spineplants."

Tibby bawled. "We is so sorry!"

"Shut up and go to Darlington, and God help you if it isn't as bad as we have been led to believe." He motioned Draco through the Floo and followed behind him. As soon as they landed, Lucius realized it wasn't as bad as Tibby had said. It was worse.

The parlour looked a warzone. The furniture had been gutted; clouds of white stuffing lay everywhere and the cushions were reduced to shreds of fabric. Mangled heaps of paper, intersperced with colourful bits that might have been covers, lay everywhere. Even the paintings had been ripped from their frames, and

_the air from the room all at once. He was back in Kent and they were screaming, screaming and the walls were lathered in blood and the floors and the smell of rut everywhere like with Granger but there was screaming and screaming and she was laughing as she touched him and it went everywhere the scarlet letter cruciating yaxley and the smell and he wanted to go home, wanted to go home and_

"Draco? Love, are you all right?"

"F-father?"

Lucius stepped up to the boy and hugged him hard. "Shh, shhh, it's all right. Shhh, they're not here, Draco." Draco leant into the embrace and shut his eyes, feeling how solid Father was and the light in the room was the sun. He breathed deeply for a moment and stepped back to look at things again.  
"They did a proper job."

"Indeed." Lucius was lost in thought. There was no tactical advantage to be had from attacking this house; anyone could see it was deserted. This was a gesture. He flashed on telling Draco to smash the graves of the ancestors and scatter their bones and felt his stomach slide greasily .

An open attack was one thing; a violation of the sacredness of the hearth quite another. Lucius made himself breathe deeply and vowed vengeance on behalf of Hermione's absent father. The man might be a muggle, but since Lucius' son was marrying Granger's daughter, Lucius was obliged to avenge this profanity as a matter of principal.

Draco walked toward the stairs, determined to see if anything was salvageable. He wanted to be able to bring Granger something to reassure her, even if it were just a book or something. Behind him, Father's feet on the stairs. Draco felt better, knowing Father was there and would help him.  
As soon as they reached the top of the stairs, the smell hit them, an acrid reek that grew steadily more overpowering as they got closer to Granger's room. Father took Draco's arm and directed him toward the guest bedroom. "We'll save Hermione's chamber for last, shall we?"

Draco opened the room that had been his. The chair was torn and smashed, the little end table broken beyond all repair. What drew his eye was the mattress. The covers had been stripped, neatly folded at the very foot of the bed. The sheets themselves were thick with soil; someone had rubbed mud into them until they were as brown and stiff as bark. Draco privately vowed to rip out the tongue of whoever had done it.

"They seemed to have forgone subtly."

Draco jumped and then nodded. "It was Bellatrix. She'd find it funny, the mud everywhere."

Lucius nodded and they made their way to Hermione's room, silently dreading what they were sure to find. It wasn't what they'd expected; in days to come Draco would rue that his former colleagues had not destroyed everything and left.

It was nearly pristine. There was a layer of feathers from a torn pillow marring everything, but otherwise it was untouched. The covers had been folded back, as though awaiting Granger's need. Even her books were took a deep breath and gagged. The smell was horrid, something sharp and…dangerous, somehow, uncomfortable. Draco suddenly wanted to check on his little girl that instant, hold her and reassure himself she was well. He was being silly, of course. Everything was fine. This was just the most intelligent revenge his lunatic aunt and her cronies could come up with.

Lucius swore under his breath, having discovered the source of the foul odor. "How droll of Greyback. Apparently he took being his lordship's lapdog quite to heart."  
Draco laughed uneasily. "Maybe it was one of the others."

"Mmm, no, this has dear Fenrir all over it, more or less literally. I suppose we're lucky all he did was relieve himself."

There was something about all this that Draco didn't like. He squinted thoughtfully, remembering back to Snape's lecture on werewolves a million years before… Greyback in the corridor of Malfoy manor, preparing to bite Granger…the room was untouched, aside from Greyback's piss. Almost like he was…like he was marking…Draco stumbled into the corridor and made it to the bathroom just in time.

When he returned, his father raised an eyebrow in concern, coming to press the back of his hand against Draco's forehead and frown. "Do you feel ill anywhere else, Draco?"

"No, Father. I think Greyback's after Hermione."

"He's after all of us."

"No, I mean, he's after Hermione especially." Draco related most of what had happened in the corridor of Malfoy manor. He'd never tell it all, not the sickening thump of Greyback's body on the floor nor the way his blood felt like hot lead in his veins.

Lucius licked his lips. "This is shaping up to be a rather bad situation."

"There's an easy answer, Father."

"Oh?"He brushed a hand lightly over his son's cheek, worried that those idiots had somehow brought a miasma into the house that was making Draco ill. "When we get home, I want you to take something to settle your stomach and lie down, understood?"

"Yes, Father."  
"Now, what's this easy answer?"  
"Greyback has to die."  
Lucius smiled, pleased by the answer his son had given. "That's my boy."

But of course he didn't tell Hermione that. Draco pressed her hand and said softly "Love, there's nothing that can't be fixed, is there? We've made a good start with the books, and I'm sure Father will replace those cooking machines with new ones as part of your bride price."

"Bride price?"

"Mmm-hmm. Muggles don't pay—of course they don't. My father will give recompense to yours because his line ends with you. Your father will then turn part of it over to Goyle, who will safe-guard it as your portion if anything should happen."

"Why would Goyle keep it?"

"Because Goyle is my second. Means if anything should ever happen to me and Father couldn't keep you, Goyle'd take charge of you. You can always enter to his family home, and he has to keep you for the rest of your life."

"Couldn't I go back to Darlington?"

"No. When we marry, your father—well, Galten, because he's the stand in—will give you to us. As soon as we've all signed the parchment, you belong to my family."

"Literally?"

"More or less."

Hermione stared at him. "You're going to _own_ me?"

"Well, Father is, but only in trust for the family as a whole. He's more like a conservator for posterity."

Draco was surprised Granger hadn't known any of this. "This can't be a shock to you. Surely your parents explained about marriage? They told you everything else."

"Muggle marriages aren't like that. The man doesn't own the woman."

"The family, Granger. The family owns you. Owns all of us, really. I can't imagine why you're taking on like this."

"Because I didn't realise the implications. How does the family own you?"

Draco snorted. "Granger, look around. See the house? And the gardens? The things in my room? Do you honestly think I could have done any of this on my own?"

"In time, perhaps, with lots of hard wor--"

Draco shook his head. "There's a proverb, Granger: 'A man is a drop of water, but a family is an ocean.' A single drop of water can't accomplish anything, but an ocean sustains life."

Hermione nodded slowly. "What about people who accomplish great things all on their own?"

"Like whom, Granger?"

Hermione listed half a dozen muggles who'd changed history while Draco listened, head cocked.

"If they're so great, why haven't I heard of any of them?"

"Draco! That hardly proves anything."

Draco shrugged and stretched lazily. "If you say so.' He raised an eyebrow. 'Do muggle families encourage that, then?"

"Encourage what?"

"Going off on one's own and doing things?" He used a tone similar to the one most people use to discuss cannibalism. Hermione made herself take a deep breath to keep from strangling him. How could anyone be so irritating and endearing at the same time?

"Well, everyone's expected to make their mark on things, I suppose. My Dad put himself through university, and so did my Mum. That's how they met."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."

"There's nothing to tell, really. Mum said she kept seeing him at the cantine and thought him handsome, and eventually he asked her out. They took a walk in the park."

"Alone?"

"Just the two of them, yes."

Draco shook his head. "Your grandparents must have been livid. Is that why they got married? I shan't be upset, Hermione, I'm just curious."

"No, they liked Dad. Why would they be angry?"

"An unknown man courting their daughter without proper supervision? He might have ruined her and then run off. Then again, I suppose this explains why they weren't upset you ran about with Potty and Weaselbee all the time. Or did you forget to tell them that part as well?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, they know about my friends."

Draco squinted thoughtfully. "Did either of them ever try anything?"

Hermione blushed. "That's private."

"Muggle concept, that. Taking it as a yes."

"Harry never did."

"The Weasel, then. What did he do?"

"I wish you'd stop calling him that."

" And I wish I could ruin that stupid face of his for touching you, but it won't happen. What did he do?"

Hermione relayed the scene in the classroom, feeling a little disloyal but trying to reassure herself that Draco was just feeling insecure and needed reassurance.

"They thought I'd tumbled_ Brown_? Can she even read?"

"How big are the words in question?" Hermione felt comfortable expressing her ire in private; she'd never got over the 'mudblood' incident. Draco chuckled and gave her hand a quick squeeze.

"And that was all?"

"Well, last week, but you know about that. What about you and Parkinson?"

Draco went still. "What about Parkinson and I?"

"You were a couple."

"Yes, well. Nothing happened."

"Is she as irritating as she seems?"

Draco looked Hermione directly in the eye for a long, long moment. "My darling, she is more annoying than you could ever imagine. She once cried on my shoulder for twenty minutes because her shoes squeaked and she was afraid it made her conspicuous."

Hermione burst out laughing. "And you said McLaggen was bad!"

"Parkinson wasn't trying to molest me! Well, perhaps she was, but at least she was subtle about it."

"And she never asked?"

"She did. I told her off in no uncertain terms."

They sat a moment longer, just relaxing in the sweet smelling garden. Draco wanted to walk over to check his Quidditch pitch. He remembered watching Granger on a broom their First year and snorted helplessly. On the other hand, with a competent teacher…

"Granger? Remember when you mentioned wanting to learn legilimency?"

"Yes. What about it?"

"Suppose we work out an arrangement. Sort of a quid pro quo?"

"What's the catch?" Hermione somehow smiled and looked suspicious all at the same time. Draco felt a great swell of affection and pleasure at the look she gave him, and wished desperately he could kiss her. They'd better marry soon, because he would go insane if they didn't.

"No catch. Just something else I'd like you to try for me."

"Go on."

"Flying. An hour in the air mornings, and an hour of legilimency after you nap. Fair?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. "Is there any way I can talk you out of this?"

"Not a prayer. Just try, Granger, you'll love it. And it will get you out of the house and away from Tibby."

"Let me think about it, Draco."

"What's to think about? You and I, the open sky, the most beautiful land in England beneath us, a chance to be with together with minimal chaperonage...' Draco raised an eyebrow rakishly and Hermione laughed aloud, giving in. "All right, you win!"

"Always do. One would almost think the thrill would have palled by now." Hermione poked Draco in the stomach, prompting a yelp of laughter and the beginnings of an epic tickle fight when Tibby cleared her throat.

"It is almost being time for dinner."

They stopped and stood, still giggling, and made their way to the manor house. Lucius and Narcissa were preparing to be seated and Lucius started to fix both of them with a jaundiced eye. Seeing how happy they looked, he couldn't. 'I am getting right sentimental in my dotage.' The thought was pleasing rather than upsetting.

"How did it go with the books?"

"Well, all told. I expect Draco and I can repair most of them."

Narcissa beamed. "That is so good to hear, dearest. I must say, they seem very odd books, with all those pictures of teeth in them."

"They're textbooks, mainly, but many of them are antiques. Dad's professor gave him his entire library when he retired. The rest are popular literature. I'm not as worried about those."

"What do muggles write literature about?"

Hermione took a sip of water to buy a little time, as Draco had. "Lots of things, Mother. The same as wizards, I should think."

Draco swallowed the food in his mouth. "Some of them are very good, Mother. I read a number by a muggle called 'King' and several more by a fellow called Shakespeare. Those were plays, mainly."

Lucius nodded slowly. "Very interesting. I should like to look at those, if you wouldn't mind."

Hermione darted a look at Draco and vowed to get him for this. "Of course, Father. I think we fixed the Shakespeare this morning."

"And the other? King, was it?"

Hermione was perversely glad for the raid on Darlington. "Ruined beyond repair, most of them. They had paper covers." She had no particular desire to give Lucius Malfoy a copy of ' 'salem's Lot' or 'The Shining'.

"That's too bad. Fortunately, Mother and I have some good news which might offset the unhappiness slightly. Narcissa?"

"The Goyles are coming tonight. Father and Galten finalized the arrangements this morning."

Draco's face lit up. "Truly?"

"The owl was here when we came back."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I don't understand."

"Granger, we're getting betrothed tonight!"

Lucius and Narcissa laughed, watching comprehension dawning on Hermione's face. "Draco!"

"They'll be here after supper. I believe you each need to rest? And Draco, I haven't forgot that you promised to take something to settle your stomach."

The rest of the day passed at a crawl. The Goyles arrived at nine o'clock. The party adjourned to the library, which, Hermione was shocked to note, was filled with elves. Tibby had place of pride on Lucius' desk blotter, safe guarding a silver salver and two wine goblets half filled with red liquid.

Lucius stepped forward and took a goblet from Tibby to hand Galten. "Drink and accept the poor hospitality of this house."

"I thank you.' Galten drank.

Lucius set his glass down on an end table. "Draco, stand in front of me."

He did. Galten set his glass down as well and addressed the younger man. "Your father has indicated you wish to take the lady Hermione Granger to wife. Is this true?"

"It is."

"Are you under compulsion?"

"I am not."

"Have you something to show your seriousness?"

Lucius snapped his fingers and an elf appeared, holding a sack in one hand. Lucius gave it to Draco and Draco handed it to Galten. It was heavy, and Draco knew his father had loaded it with Galleons. Galten tucked it into the sash of his robes without looking, to show he had faith that Lucius had not played him false.

"I accept your suit. Hermione, come to me." Hermione stood and walked to stand before Galten.

"Behold the woman you seek. I give her to you for the purpose of bearing legitimate children. Extend your hand and clasp hers." Draco took Granger's hand. It felt like forever since he'd touched her; his flesh pimpled lightly, desire swimming in his veins.

"Do you promise never to take arms against my house?"

"I do."

"I pledge Hermione Granger for the purpose of bearing legitimate children."

Lucius stepped forward. "Miss Granger, Galten has accepted my family's suit for your hand. Do you understand what that means?"

Draco leant his head down. " Give the obvious answer."

"I do." Hermione thought it best to mimic Draco. She saw Narcissa smile and nod, looking away as the tears started. Her little boy, her baby was getting married!

"A promise once made can never be revoked. I accept Hermione Granger for the purpose of bearing legitimate children." Lucius flicked his wand and their hands glowed blue for a moment and then faded.

. Narcissa came forth to embrace both children, tears on her cheeks, and Lucius clasped his son's shoulder and smiled at Hermione. The elves were, of course, ecstatic. Tibby burst into hysterical sobs and hugged Lemmy, who was also wailing with joy. The others danced, leaping into the air and spinning for sheer pleasure.

Greg stepped forward and threw his arms about Draco. "Congratulations mate." He turned and embraced Hermione as well, big hand patting her back softly. Hermione was slightly surprised he had accepted her so easily; hoped her friends would be as gracious as he was.

The rest of the night was uneventful. When they retired at eleven, the inhabitants of Malfoy manor were uniformly tired and mainly content. The wedding would be as soon as was feasible; it was bad luck to delay. That was the only dark though on anyone's mind as they drifted to sleep. No one spared a thought to the unfortunate events of that morning; it was done, and things were finally looking up a bit.

Outside the manor, crouched on the edge of the wards Greyback waited. He was nothing if not patient. Through a window, he saw them performing a ceremony. A betrothal, looked like. He resolved to force the girl to watch as he tore the younger Malfoy's heart out of his chest and ate it.

Greyback smiled. He would bide his time and, when the moment was right, he'd claim what was his. The wards were good, excellent, but then, so was he.

**A/N: A note about wards;**

**It is my understanding that most manor houses in Britain once sat on their own private parks. Malfoy manor still does--the house itself sits surrounded by a park totaling sixteen kilometers. Wards tend to be most effective over a small area, so the house and upper gardens are heavily warded, while the park and lands further from the house are much more lightly warded.**


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: Love to reviewers**

**Having wrested my computer from the Malfoys' grip for a moment, I wanted to take a moment to account my many debts.**

**No work is created in a vacuum. If I were to try and list the many, many people who have, in some way, aided in the creation of this story, the list would be longer than the chapter. Suffice it to say that while all the flaws are mine, whatever merit is possessed by 'Favor me with Silence' is largely the result of help and support received by the author from many sources.**

**-To Countess Black, for her support, humor and insight**

**-To CDC for her help and encouragement**

**--To my family, who gave me the education I need to write this story**

**-To the many adults in my life who pushed me to challange myself**

**-To my boyfriend, for his boundless love and support**

**Above all, to you. In a very real sense, the readers wrote this story, through their constant encouragement, critiscm and enthusiasm. I literally could not have done it without you. It's been a hard year in a lot of ways, and knowing I was writing something which gave pleasure to people helped me keep going.**

**For Therese, who gave me the courage to fight when it was easier to surrender**

**Therefore, the author dedicates this work, with loving gratitude:**

**AMDG and my readers.**

By far, the most awkward of awkward ways to be walked in upon involves one's mother in law and an intimate position; the next awkward would necessarily involve a screeching house elf.

Draco and Hermione were to encounter both within ten minutes of one another, and would have been hard pressed to say which was worse, though Draco was tempted to say Tibby won by a hair, if only due to Granger's reaction.

They were sitting in the Blue salon, his hand on her shoulder as she tried to Occlude him. Draco pressed a little harder into her mind and began to tease out an image of what seemed to be a piano recital. She pushed, more forcefully than he would have suspected, and he found himself fighting to keep mental contact.

"Miss! Miss!"

The moment shattered and Draco, living, whirled around, barely restraining himself from hitting the elf. "Damn it! D'you have any idea how dangerous--"

"We is sorry, but Madam is needing Miss! We is sorry! Sorry!"

"Oh God, is it the house again? Have they burnt it down or something?"

Draco had to restrain a snort at the tone she used. "Granger, do try not to get too excited, love."

"Madam is telling Tibby to get Miss!" The elf continued to howl, until Hermione stood. "Walk with me?"

Draco rose as well. "Of course. Well done, by the way, you nearly had me." To his pleasure, Hermione blushed and looked away, and his pride increased even further.

They made their way up the stairs and walked to Narcissa's cool, quiet chambers. Everything was done in muted, tasteful tones of washed out pastels and the furniture was deep and soft and lovely. The lady herself was mysteriously absent.

"Mother must've stepped out. What shall we do to pass the time until she returns?"

"Have a conversation?"

"Mmm, could. Or I could reward you for your good lesson just now."

Hermione grinned and raised an eyebrow. "What kind of reward?"

"It's been a while since I warmed your arse."

"Draco, that's a reward for you, not a reward for me."

"Well, darling, what's mine is yours, so I prefer to think it's a reward for _us_ …how about a kiss, then?"

She leant against him and tipped her face up, lips together, and he cupped her cheek, bent his head and—

"Draco! Hermione!"

"Mother! Good afternoon!" They leapt apart, faces scarlet, and Narcissa gave them each a very stern look. "I certainly hope I didn't see what I thought I saw."

Neither answered. Narcissa came in and sat between them. "Hermione, my darling, I was talking to Father just now, and we both feel you need a trousseau, so this afternoon, we're going to go shopping, you and I."

Hermione looked as though she'd swallowed a live beetle. "Yes, Mother."

"You seem unenthused, dearest."

"I've never been much for shopping, is all."

Narcissa blinked. "Nor I, but needs must is needs must, and I think it will be pleasant for us to spend an afternoon together."

Draco smirked hugely, all but rubbing his hands together with glee. This would be great fun, and unlike that hideous, hideous talk a few weeks earlier, there was no chance it would backfire.

Narcissa turned to face her sweet baby. "You're coming as well, Draco. You need new things desperately. Your dress robes will never do, and your jumpers are looking tatty."

Draco gave his mother his very nicest smile. "Mother, can't I just borrow some of Father's? His are very nice, and--"

"You're to be married, Draco. You need your own robes, and you're too old to just borrow from your father. And anyway, it will be fun, like it was when you were small. Unless you don't _want_ to come?" She patted his face and smiled sadly, and Draco knew he was done. "Of course, Mother, I'd be glad to."

Granger was smiling evilly at him. "Get that look off your face, Hermione Jane."

Hermione dropped her eyes demurely. "I've no idea what you mean."

"Yes, you do! You were _smirking_ at me!"

"I wonder where Hermione might have learnt that, Draco."

Draco's ears went pink. "I'll, ah, go and find my shoes."

As he left, his little girl turned to Mother and said softly "Mother?"

"Yes, love?"

"Will you teach me how to do that?"

"Of course."

Lucius Malfoy was sitting in his study, going over that month's accounts. His set the quill down and popped his neck, smiling ruefully. He was getting older.

Draco popped his head in the door. "Father, help!"

"What's wrong, Draco?"

"Mother wants me to go shopping with Hermione and her."

"Oh? What's the problem?"

Draco looked horrified. "Father, it's shopping! With Mother!"

"So you've said."

"Can't you tell her I can't go?"

"No."

"No?"

"Then she might find some reason for me to go, and Draco, I have spent close to twenty five shopping with Mother. My turn is done."

Draco was too old to pout, but one wouldn't have realized it from the look on his face. "But Father…"

"I am resolved in this. One of the joys of having children is forcing them to do the things one no longer wishes to. When I was your age, Grandfather made me do just the same with Grandmother and Mother, and if you think Mother is bad, you ought to have gone with Grandmother."

Draco sniggered despite himself. "Fair enough. I'll see you later, Father."

"Draco?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Do keep an eye out. Diagon Alley is safe enough, I should think, but…"

Draco nodded, unconsciously fingering his wand. It grieved Lucius to see, a bit, that way the boy's hand went for his wand so casually.

A moment later, he heard the front door open, and saw through the window as they stepped onto the lawn. Draco graciously held Hermione's arm as they Apparated together.

Something flickered into his field of vision. Just for an instant, Lucius felt almost watched. He half stood, going for his own wand, and then made himself relax. Malfoy park harboured all sorts of animals; likely it was a deer, or some other woodland animal.

On the other hand, he hadn't survived as long as he had by ignoring his instinct. Pulling out a piece of fresh parchment and a new quill, he began to write:

'Dear Sir,

I wish to speak to you in person as to the wedding arrangements. Would you do me the honour of visiting me this evening atnine o'clock?"

A flock of birds rose, screeching, and Lucius Malfoy called the mail elf to come and send the letter, deciding this was the right choice after all.

It wasn't nearly as bad as Hermione thought it would be. Narcissa knew what she wanted to get and eschewed ostentation for a kind of clean, quiet simplicity. She'd seemingly memorized a list of what was needed and recited to the cadre of assistants who appeared as soon as they entered the shop.

"We'll need six nightgowns, four of lawn and two of silk, three dozen pairs of stockings and suspenders, silk, two dozen wool, a bed jacket in pink peau de soie, …." And that was simply undergarments. All Hermione had to do was sit on the chair provided for her and listen.

Draco fared worse. He was shooed toward Madam Malkin's with stern instructions to get new dress robes and then the usual place for trousers, shoes and the like. He obeyed, brooding, and soon found himself standing still while Madam Malkin pinched and prodded him all over. The shop was blessedly empty

"Malfoy?"

"Hello, Potter. How goes it?"

"All right." Harry Potter smiled a little. "History's repeating itself."

"Hmm, I hope not. I should hate to lose all this height I've gained since I was eleven."

Potter laughed. "Touche. Where's Hermione?"

"With Mother, getting her trousseau. I'm not sorry to have missed that."

"Do you have time for a drink?"

Draco considered. "I do. The Three Broomsticks?"

Ten minutes later, he was drinking pumpkin juice with his former nemesis. They eyed one another awkwardly, not knowing what to say. Finally, Potter said " You were brave to come out today."

"We can't hide forever. There's only so much one can get sent to the house."

"How are your friends dealing with all this?"

Draco wanted to make a smart arsed comment but made himself take the high road, seeing as Potter was clearly going somewhere.

"I've not received any death threats from them, so I expect the answer is 'as well as could be expected'. Have you informed Aunt Walburga's portrait?"

"Merlin, no."

They laughed a little. "What about yours? The Weasleys and the rest of them?"

Harry swallowed a sip of pumpkin juice. "Everyone was…surprised, but I think most of them respect Hermione enough to have faith in her choice."

"What about Weasley himself? Is he planning on sneak-hexing me when next he and I meet?"

Harry looked away. "Listen, Malfoy…Ron's…Ron's a good bloke. He just needs time. It was a bit of a shock for him."

"Is this your way of telling me to expect trouble, Potter?"

"Not exactly. But it's going to be hard going."

"I'm aware, and so is Granger.' He stood and threw down a coin. 'Speaking of whom, I'm going to find her and Mother. Care to join me?"

Despite his brave words to Potter, Draco thought it wise to avoid the open street. The places they were shopping were places that had been serving the Malfoys for centuries; the shop owners weren't going to alienate customers of such long standing by allowing vulgar people to harass them. But nobody owns the street, and so he hurried, wishing it were winter so he could wear a cloak to hide his features.

Luckily, Potter had similar ideas, and they walked quickly to the shop where he'd left the ladies. They walked into the shop and breathed in the smells of perfume, face powder and freesia that hung like some sort of pink cloud.

"Harry! Draco, how nice of you to ask him to come!" She beamed and gave Potter a kiss on the cheek. Potter smiled back and then studied her a long moment. "You look different, Hermione."

"Do I?" She turned to Draco, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Don't look at me, love, I think you always look radiant." Hermione looked away, cheeks faintly pink, and Draco gave Potter a slightly smug look.

"It's not a bad thing. You look' he tried to find words for the way she'd looked when she saw Malfoy; her face had lit up. She looked older but in a good way; and thankfully, she was gaining weight.

"Happy." Hermione's face relaxed and she lightly pressed his arm. "I am happy, Harry, very happy. I wish my parents could be here, but other than that..."

"Any news of--"

She inhaled. "No. How is Ginny?"

"Fine. You know Bill and Fleur are expecting?"

"That's wonderful! We'll have to send them a note." The last was to Draco, who nodded dutifully. Weaselbee's kin was almost as bad as he, and numerous as boomslangs in a riverbed. The bell above the door tinkled again and Draco winced. Xanthippe Parkinson had just come in, accompanied by her daughter Pansy.

"Draco!"

"Hello Pansy, Madam Parkinson. You know my fiancée, Miss Granger, and Harry Potter, of course."

Xanthippe Parkinson nodded but didn't extend a hand. She smiled and said loudly "Yes, of course. How are you today, dear?"

"Fine, thank you, Madam. And yourself?"

"Oh, we're quite well. Pansy and I thought we'd come and get some dress robes for the ball. Is Narcissa choosing yours?"

Hermione didn't know which ball they meant but decided asking would be a mistake. "Mother is always so generous with her help and guidance; she's helping me with everything."

"Of course she is. After all, it isn't as though your own mother could help you, now could she?"

Hermione went rigid. "Pardon?"

"Well, dear, she _is_ a muggle, after all. Isn't she?"

"Yes, she is." Draco could smell danger, and so could Potter. Both men stepped a little closer, though to support Hermione or restrain her neither was sure.

Pansy was watching the whole thing with a look of simpering affection on her face, but under it Draco could sense she was anticipating her mother humiliating Draco's mudblood slut.

"Then she could hardly be expected to understand the niceties of these things. I imagine muggles do things differently. Do they even have weddings?"

Hermione's cheeks were crimson. "If I didn't know better, Madam, I'd think you asked me whether my parents are married."

"One does hear stories, Miss Granger. Things I would not repeat to an… _innocent_… such as yourself, horrible things."

Parkinson smiled. "Don't worry, Mother, I'm quite sure Miss Granger can handle it. Living in a tent with those boys for months, she must have been partner in a great many peculiar things."

Draco felt heat rushing to his face and neck. "I'd be careful what I implied, Parkinson."

Hermione put a hand to his arm and smiled tightly. "Draco, I feel a little faint. Let's find Mother."

Parkinson's smile widened. "Oh, dear, are you ill? Nauseous, perhaps? I'm sure you'll be…back in the saddle…in no time at all."

Draco's world had gone very quiet and very dim. "If you-- were a man--, I would—killyou –for-- that."

Hermione stepped up. "I had wanted to be civil for Draco's sake, Parkinson, bit something tells me it won't be possible. Good day to both of you, Draco, escort me home, please."

Narcissa, having had everything sent to the manor, entered the circle in time to see the tag end. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine, Mother. Madam Parkinson and her daughter were just saying goodbye."

"Actually, Cissy dearest, we wanted to see for ourselves whether this whole thing with the Granger girl was true."

"I've no clue what you mean, Xanthippe. Lucius and I could not be more thrilled that Draco is marrying Miss Granger." Narcissa put a hand on the back of Hermione's neck and gave a terrifying smile to warn the Parkinson woman to back off.

"And here we thought it was a tasteless joke. I must say, I think it terribly ill advised. If you ask me--"

"No one did." Hermione was close to her breaking point. Beside her, Harry had quietly put a hand to his wand. None of the others had…yet. She didn't want a problem, truly, but the things they were saying were inexcusable.

"Don't you interrupt my mother! Draco only likes you because you let him do things to you."

Hermione looked Pansy dead in the face. "That's a lie."

"Is it? The kind of girl who'd spend all her time alone with men? They call you his mudblood whore!"

Hermione smiled sweetly. "You ought to hear what they used to call you, Parkinson. Mother, are we finished?"

Narcissa nodded. "Indeed. Good day Xanthippe, Pansy."

They left. "Mr. Potter, I'm sure my son has invited you to tea already, but I'm afraid we must reschedule, as all this excitement has been too much for Hermione. How's Saturday afternoon at four?"

"Uh, fine, thank you."

"Excellent. We'll see you then. Are you ready, children?"

Hermione and Harry embraced. "Thank you, Harry."

"Welcome. Goodbye, Madam Malfoy, Draco."

They Apparated home, and were met by Lucius. "How did it go?"

Narcissa shook her head. "Draco will tell you. Hermione, love, go straight upstairs and lie down, I'll be up in a moment with a calming draught."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. As the ladies made their way up the stairs, he waved his son into the study and motioned for him to sit down. Draco related everything that had happened as his father listened, occasionally asking a question here or there.

"It sounds like you both reacted very well, all things considered."

"Thank you, Father. What shall we do?"

His father looked grim. "Do? What can we do? Surely you knew this was coming."

"Well, yes, but I never thought they would attack Hermione. And Mother."

"Was any of it true?"

Draco looked away. "I wouldn't know. I've seen Granger's parents' wedding photograph, so they must be married. And nothing happened between her and Potter and Weasley that I know of."

"Were there rumours about your relationship?"

"At school? I doubt it. Parkinson only knew because Alecto was there the night Snape… she must have heard me threaten Greyback."

"What about the Parkinson girl?"

"She and I had a rather nasty confrontation in…February? March? Don't recall…anyway, we had a run in. She's been mad ever since."

"Because you chose Hermione over her?"

"I presume." Draco shrugged. One couldn't expect a woman to behave logically about things of this nature. "Hermione has spoilt us, I think. She's always so reasonable about these things."

Lucius smiled. "Yes, she is, but remember she's still liable to the same frailties as every other woman. Is she really ill?"

"I think she just wanted to get away from Parkinson."

"Something will need to be done. I hadn't meant to tell you, but I've written Galten Goyle and…"

Upstairs, Hermione was obediently lying abed, propped up on several down pillows, holding a goblet of water. Narcissa sat next to her and said finally "It really didn't bother you?"

"The things that woman said about my parents did. What Pansy was talking about…of course not. She didn't spit, either." Hermione smiled but Narcissa remained solemn, deep in thought.

"That's a small mercy. All the same, I can't help but feel there was something we should have said or done."

Hermione considered. "It's better we not make a scene, I think. They'll get bored with us."

"I quite agree, but in the interim…what was it they used to call the Parkinson girl, anyway?"

Hermione looked away. "I might have made that up to anger her."

"You might have, but I can't believe it. You're too good, love. It's all right, Hermione, you may tell." Narcissa did smile then, and Hermione got an abrupt peak of the girl she'd been, a cheery, fun loving girl who'd never been as pretty as Bellatrix, perhaps, but still lovely beyond words when she was happy.

"They used to call her…"

Draco's face was lit up like the Great Hall at Christmas when his father had finished. "Father, tonight? Truly?"

"Unless you wish to wait…"

"No! I mean, whatever you think best, sir."

Lucius laughed. "I nearly believed that. It will quash the worst of the rumours, and as for the rest…like you said, who's to believe a drunkard and that ugly daughter of hers?"

"I quite agree. May we tell Mother now?"

"Mmm, yes, but not Hermione. She's had a very long day, and she needs to rest. You aren't to give anything away, understood?"

"I'll be the soul of discretion, Father."

"I rather doubt that." But he grinned as he said it, and watched as his son darted up the stairs, happier than he'd seen him in ages. As would his wife be, and Lucius himself. Snape had had the potion ready for over a week, and if they were rather foreshortening the traditional waiting period, it was in the service of the greater good, and well worth it to see Draco run like a child to tell Narcissa.

Dinner that night was a strangely fraught affaire. Hermione was sent upstairs with strict instructions to stay in the sitting room of Narcissa's quarters and not to dare move. She was inclined to obey; she had a good book and the company of her devoted, irritating, slightly mad house elf.

At nine o'clock Galten Goyle arrived, younger brother in tow. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, they got straight to business. "Tomorrow, then?"

"That would be ideal. I understand it's rather sudden…"

" 'S'All right. If that thing this afternoon was as bad as you say, it'll stop anymore like that, anyway."

"That's what I said. And it isn't as though there's any doubt on any of our parts."

"Quite. So we'll take her now and be here at dawn?"

"That sounds exactly right. Draco, have you anything to add?"

"No, Father. Should Greg and I seal our vow, though?"

The boys rose and called for two goblets of wine. They joined hands as Galten drew and swished. "Do you, Gregory Andrew Goyle, vow to protect the lady Hermione Granger from all harm, whatever may come?"

"I do."

"Do you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, vow to give Gregory Goyle aid and succor whenever called upon, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do."

They drank and Greg grinned broadly. "It'll be just like old times."

"Well, no, I haven't those lead knights anymore." They both chuckled and waited to be dismissed. "May we go, Father?"

"By all means, but do make sure Hermione doesn't see you."

"Yes, sir. Come on, Greg." The two walked for the stairs and the men watched them go.

"They're good boys."

"Yes, they are. Your father would be very proud, Galten, of how you've handled things in his…absence."

"Thank you."

"Tiggy is expecting you both?"

"She is."

"I'll ask my wife to get Hermione."

Hermione's first hint that something had changed was the sight of Narcissa, clad in a dressing gown, bustling in, potion phial in one hand, trailed by Tibby. "Here, love, drink this down. Good girl."

The stuff tasted of menthol and something else, but Hermione had very little chance to decide what, as her midriff suddenly tingled strangely. She pressed her hand to her navel, but nothing else happened.

"Mother?"

"Yes, love? The purple, Tibby, and those old brown shoes. Yes, those. Hold out your hand, Hermione."

Hermione obeyed and her bracelet, the bracelet that Draco had given her that night after the Slug Club party, flicked open and dropped into Narcissa's palm. The older witch sat down and took Hermione's hand in hers.

"It's all right, precious. Nothing's the matter, but I need you to listen carefully to what I tell you."

After she'd got done, Hermione was silent for a full minute. "But we've not sent invitations."

"A wedding is a family ceremony, love. Guests will come to the ball in a month's time, and we'll invite all your friends." Well, some of them, and only if they'd behave, but Narcissa didn't mention that part.

"And that was the potion Snape made?"

"It was. Everything should be fine now."

"It's all so sudden."

"Given what happened today, it seemed wise to move the date. They won't dare impugn you if you're married to my son. The bride and groom aren't supposed to know the exact time, anyway, and we thought you'd prefer soon rather than later. Tibby, dress Miss for travel via Floo."

"Why did you take my bracelet?"

Narcissa spent the rest of their time explaining what was to happen, and at midnight, Hermione stepped through the Floo with Galten Goyle. The Malfoys watched her go.

" Hermione is a wonderful girl, but I just can't believe our baby is getting married."

"I can't believe Draco doesn't complain when you call him that."

Narcissa smiled. "He's good, but I'm better. Are the boys settled?"

"They'd best be. I've told Minky to wake them at four o'clock."

"I feel a little strange, marrying them so abruptly."

"This way we can call in all those debts of honour if someone insults the girl again. How was she?"

"You would have been proud. Even Mother would have approved of the way she handled it."

Lucius frowned gravely. "Oh dear, I shall have to watch out, then. Your mother had a way of getting what she wanted."

"She did ."

"Are you happy, love?" Lucius pulled his wife closer and she pressed her head to his shoulder. It was strange, he thought. Making the preparations for a wedding made him feel so old, and yet being here with Narcissa, he felt eighteen again.

"Tremendously. Seeing that Parkinson girl made me realise how lucky we are in Hermione."

"I quite agree. Do you suppose our grandchildren will be brunets, though?"

Narcissa shuddered. "Don't even joke, Lucius!"

In the vaults, the elves prepared for the ceremony. Bottles of the finest wine in the Malfoy collection, heavily laced with datura and juice of poppy, were set beside the big gold braziers, along with tins of incense and fruit for offerings. The tombs were garlanded with wreathes and bouquets by the dozen, and the cushions on the benches were cleaned and plumped. After they'd gone, all was quiet.

Outside, a small group straggled along the edges of the park, unable to get within sight of the house, due to the Marks which still tainted their magic. They were quiet too, but their quiet was the quiet of the living, not the dead.

Greyback sat amongst them and waited. He'd been careless that day, but now he would be more cautious. Too much was riding on this to make a stupid error. The animals had long since fled the wolfman, and the only company the Death Eaters had was the stars.

The world wore a veil of peace that night, and if it was a troubled veil, it was enough for those who waited the morning's soft tread, thief like, to change everything.

And it did. But for now, favored with silence, they slept.

**A/N**: **The sequel is started and should be coming soon. **


End file.
